


The Lion and the Seer

by ContraryToEverything



Category: Fables - Aesop, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adventure, Curses, F/M, Fantasy, Magic, Romance, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 56,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8001040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContraryToEverything/pseuds/ContraryToEverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of Aesop's Androcles (also called: The Slave and the Lion)</p><p>Summary: An enslaved Seer befriends a hostage prince and a mysterious lion.  Magical AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story is unedited
> 
> This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am planning to re-write this story completely, so I won't be finishing it as it is. More details on the last chapter.

**Part 1**

 

Aristandra’s earliest memory was of an endless golden chain to which she was somehow bound, the shining strand delicate but inescapable.  It wasn’t a true memory, in the sense that it wasn’t something that had actually happened to her, but it was real enough.  After all, fate was said to be a golden chain, sometimes just a single strand, but other times, a multitude; sometimes linked, and other times broken.

 

The vision of the golden chain was rather fitting.  Aristandra had been told that she had been born to a powerful oracle, and what better confirmation could there be that prophetic magic was inherited in her blood than for her first memory to be that of a golden chain?  The memory was, in fact, a dream, but it was through dreams that Aristandra’s abilities manifested.

 

Aristandra had no actual memory of the oracle, her mother.  Curiously, she also wasn’t disposed to having daydreams about her mother, the way that parentless children tended to do.  She couldn’t imagine the mysterious woman being some sort of soft, affectionate being, with a gentle voice, and feathery kisses.  It wasn’t that Aristandra lacked the imagination to picture such a thing.  Rather, it was what her mother was, and what she was as well: Oracle, Seer, Prophetess.  At most, Aristandra pictured a woman that looked like an older version of herself: long, straight black hair, dark eyes, golden-hued skin.

 

Being a seer set Aristandra apart from the people around her.  It was both a status of great honour, and yet at the same time, an invisible sort of enslavement.  She was treated with immense respect, and sometimes even reverence, as though people thought she’d spontaneously start glowing, or that her words would somehow echo across cities.  And yet she was also treated as something less than human.  Most people saw only her abilities - the opportunities, warnings or even power that it afforded them.  They saw a tool to be used, wrapped up in a human package.  They didn’t see the girl behind the powers; didn’t see the wry sense of humour, the wishes or desires, nor the soft vulnerability within her that longed for some sort of genuine connection.  No one ever saw Aris the girl.  There was only Aristandra the Seer.

 

Aristandra had been taken away from her mother at an early age, and for as long as she remembered, she was a resident of the Mahala Palace, which sat in the very of the heart metropolis known as Mahalan.  The Mahala Palace was said to be a thing of beauty - creamy-stone walls, sweeping coppery rooftops, terraces upon terraces, and multiple courtyards - all with elegant tinkling fountains inhabited by small colourful fish.  The courtyards were all ringed with cut-out walls carved with intricate petal-like patterns, and romantic colonnades added a lovely counterpoint to the low fountains.  Beyond the palace, the metropolis of Mahalan spread out shining and white, like the artful scattering of hundreds upon hundreds of pearls.  Mahala Palace itself was the crowning ornament, and an outward manifestation of the vanity and pomposity of rulers past.

 

To Aristandra, the Mahala Palace was both her home and her prison.  The pale walls, and cool indigo tiles beneath her feet were comforting in their familiarity, but oppressive all the same.  Here, she was safe from the dangerous and unscrupulous hoards that were sure to take advantage of her, were her abilities well known, and instead, she was at the mercy of only one person, and a very powerful person at that: the emperor of Mahalan.  After all, it was he who had taken her away from her oracle mother as soon as he had learned of her existence.  It was he who was both ambitious enough and daring enough to claim her as his very own tool, for as emperor, surely it was his divine right.

 

In truth, Aristandra’s early years hadn’t been that bad.  Though she lacked royal or noble blood, she was accorded the respect that would be given to any young noble living in the palace.  She had her own set of chambers, in the same quarters that housed the rooms of the nobles who stood attendant to the emperor.  She sat with the same tutors that educated the royal and noble children, learning numbers, figures, history and natural studies.  She learned the various courtly dances with their silly mincing steps, and the finer details of etiquette such as the purpose of that odd utensil that looked like a blunted hook.  She knew the popular ballads and poems (even the ones where the heros did ridiculously foolish things for the sake of love.)  She had the same grace and poise as those around her, wore robes of the same cuts and fabrics, and even had an intuitive sense of the politics of court life.

 

But for all that her life was similar to the life of the young royals and nobles, there were differences as well.  Aristandra was required to record her dreams each night, and the scrolls were collected and taken to the court’s clerics and mage to decipher.  Worse yet, she actually had to meet up with the mage on a monthly basis, and it was near impossible to like someone who had the appearance and bearing of a cantankerous ostrich with a bad ulcer, what with his pointy face, wiry short hair and permanent scowl.  The mage, though talented, saw Aristandra as someone beneath him, since she had no control over her own magic, while he had mastered his own with razor-edged precision.

 

Aristandra also found herself excluded from most of the feasts, fetes and revels thrown by Mahala’s emperor.  It was one thing to be beneficiary of the emperor’s generosity - of his rooms, and lessons and fabrics; it was another thing altogether to actually have a _presence_ in court.  Aristandra may have been a source of power, but that did not mean that she had any real power.  The emperor might have been more than willing to take advantage of her magical abilities, but that didn’t mean that he wanted it to be known, just how much he might rely on her.  He stood to gain more if Aristandra believed herself to be powerless - if she saw herself as being in his debt rather than freely offering her talents.  And so, in this way, there existed a boundary between Aristandra and the royal and noble children that grew up around her.

 

As for Aristandra’s prophecies, her nightly dreams, they were always abstract, symbolic and yet vividly clear - almost like still images.  Snakes wearing crowns.  Water lilies floating on pools of blood.  Armies of tigers led by a leopard.  Snow, as black as coal falling from yellow skies.  Houses of wax rapidly melting.  Ocean whirlpools that were strangely serene.  Sometimes Aristandra’s intuition allowed her to make sense of it; other times, the meanings were too cryptic, and yet without fail, Aristandra was expected to deliver each and every one of her dreams.  Perhaps the mage or clerics understood them - perhaps there were books for deciphering such things.  But if the mage, clerics or emperor knew, they never told her.  Even with her own dreams, Aristandra was kept in the dark.

 

Aristandra’s life took a sharp turn for the worse when she was eight years of age.  Before then, the other children were, if not warm, then at least friendly towards her.  She had been included in their sports and games, her favourite being a game called Rota that involved a circular playing-board laid out like a wheel, and playing pieces that had to be aligned three-in a row to win.  Rota wasn’t a game that she liked to play alone, and in those days, there was always someone willing to have a game or two of Rota.  The other children had allowed her to eat with them at their table, or on the benches in the courtyards; they were willing to accept the way that she would linger at the fringes of their groups like an unobtrusive shadow.  If she spoke up, they sometimes listened, and sometimes didn’t, but their actions were without malice.  She wasn’t quite one of them, but she was close enough.

 

In those early days, Aristandra could still visit her nurse if she found herself feeling lonely.  Though a servant, her nurse wasn’t specifically relegated to her, but she was someone who cared for the royal wards of noble blood, and others that were more important than the common folk, but not important enough that they were royal.  The emperor’s children had their own special nurse - an otherwise unremarkable woman except that she had some minor healing magical talents (and a particularly arrogant bearing, for a servant.)

 

But not long after turning eight, Aristandra had a dream, and unlike many of other other prophetic dreams, she knew it was a very ill omen.  The night before, Aristandra had dreamed of a rather skinny white bear frolicing about in a orchard, heavy with fruit.  The bear had been gorging itself, rolling around in sticky juices and looking altogether pleased with itself.  She knew that the white bear was the sigil of one of the noble families, and though the family name was old, it was well known that their coffers were filled more with cobwebs than gold.  In fact, that particular family had a daughter, a year younger than Aristandra, who often liked to play a game or two of Rota with her.  The daughter, who was named Ursala, was close enough that in those days, Aristandra had considered her a friend.

 

Being able to sometimes interpret her dreams, Aristandra knew that the white bear represented Ursala’s family.  She had told Ursala of the dream - after all, neither the emperor, mage nor clerics had forbidden Aristandra from speaking of her dreams to others.  Perhaps it was hubris, but they seemed to assume that others would fail to make sense of the symbology that the clerics so carefully guarded.  Ursala hadn’t known what to make of the dream (other than to say “I can’t picture a skinny bear.  It just isn’t right.”)  But it had all made sense a week later when a messenger had arrived at court, announcing the death of a childless noblemen, leaving Ursala’s family as the heirs to to vast tracts of fertile land.  Ursala had left court not long after that.  But by that point, Ursala had already been avoiding Aristandra.

 

As she crawled into her low, narrow bed that fateful night, pulling the blue-dyed rabbit-wool blanket across herself, she didn’t suspect the changes that were to come.  Perhaps if she knew, she would have chosen not to write down her dream, or at least alter the details to confuse the meaning.  Perhaps if she had given thought to that sickening twisted feeling that she woke up with the following morning - but unfortunately, she had not.  She had extinguished the light from the oil lamp, throwing her room into the heavy darkness that so often frightened young children; it was a fear that Aristandra wasn’t exempt from, but she forced herself to endure it, to let the monsters of her imagination come for her because she had no mother or father to protect her from those ghastly twisted creatures in her mind, nor did she have a knight to slay her inner dragons.  At least sleep came easily.

 

Prophetic dreams, like ordinary ones, had a curious timeless quality to them.  Aristandra couldn’t remember the beginning of the dream - all knew was that a dream was upon her.  She rarely ever had a body in her dreams.  Whatever space she existed in was rather indefinable, but at least she had her senses, and she could see, hear, taste, smell and touch, if it ever occurred to her to actually touch anything.  More vivid than her physical senses were her emotions, which were as telling as the strange things she witnessed.  Her feelings, if she had any in the dreams, were often disconnected from the images themselves.  She had had dreams of unrelenting anxiety, while standing in a meadow of wildflowers, watching the lazy glide of blackbirds overhead.  She had felt soothing peace in dreams where rivers of blood flooded the plains, slowly seeping into the shining black soil.

 

On this night, she found herself looking upon a large, winged serpent, with only a single curved fang instead of two.  The creature’s movements were sluggish, its flight more like a slow descent than an undulating glide, and its blue eyes were glazed.  Upon closer inspection, she saw that its wings were made of violet-coloured flower petals rather than feathers, which emitted a sickly-sweet odor with a touch of sourness.  It made her want to sick up, though in this state, there was no way such a thing could happen.  The petals of the serpent’s wings were wilting and shedding, falling into pieces before even hitting the ground.  

 

The dream was tinged with a sharp mix of horror and anguish, and like so many of her other dreams, it felt deeply personal, even if it wasn’t.  The winged serpent was important to her - at least in this dreamscape, and her heart ached as an unrelenting flow of despair was poured into the well of her chest.  Alongside this was the uncomfortable twisted sense of revulsion and disgust, and a strange wounded sort of pride, as though it was simply _wrong_ for such a majestic creature to suffer such a fate.

 

When Aristandra woke, it was the sense of horror that persisted.  Her rabbit-wool blanket had been pushed aside, half-draped across the floor as though she had been battling with the soft folds in her sleep.  It was rare for her to ever thrash about in her sleep - the sight of her bed in disarray only increased the feelings of foreboding.  This in itself was strange to Aristandra.  Her dreams may have felt personal when she was the dreamer, but upon waking, there had always been a sense of distance from the strange images in her mind.  It was rare for her to ever connect her dreams with what she thought of as _real_ life.  Even if she was able to interpret the dreams and link symbols to names and faces, it had always felt more like an intellectual puzzle than a personal message.  Whatever the dream had been trying to say, it was significant and material to her own life.

 

By Aristandra’s low bed was a small wooden table, its legs carved with the same spiraling twists as her bedframe.  Upon it was an untied roll of scrolls, a pair of reed pens, and an inkwell.  But Aristandra did not immediately sit up to record what she had seen and felt.  Instead, she remained prone upon mattress, her eyes open but unseeing as she tried to interpret the mysterious prophecy.

 

She knew that the sigil of the royal family was the winged serpent.  It could be seen on the golden circular crests that represented the emperor’s ancestors and progeny.  It was likely then that her dream was about one of the members of the royal family, and if her emotions represented the flow of the golden chain of fate, then what it meant was that disaster might very well befall them.  An injury perhaps?  Or worse, a death?  The winged serpent in her dream had been flagging - the feather/petals of its wings molting with alarming speed.  That could also mean a loss of royal status.  Perhaps the emperor meant to disown or exile one of his children.  

 

Aristandra saw the royal children often, especially those that were close to her in age, but despite living in the palace, she knew very little of the prince’s and princess’s relationship with their parents, aside from a few whispered rumours.  It was considered indecorous for the royals to show their emotions, and from an early age, all of them learned to wear their faces as masks.  It was, after all, politically advantageous to be unreadable.

 

All she could be sure of then, was that the prophecy was related to the royal family, and that it foretold some sort of calamity.  With a heavy sigh that did little to dispel the weighty burden of Aristandra’s emotions, she sat up and began to record her dream, just as she did every morning since learning to write.  Though only eight, her handwriting was meticulously neat - after all, avoiding the punishment of a raging mage insulting her in front of a gawking crowd of curious servants and clerics was strong incentive to ensure that her penmanship was perfect.  She blew the ink dry, and left the scroll on the table, where it would later be collected by a servant and given to the clerics.  Perhaps with the words written on paper and taken away, the matter would be out of her hands, and she wouldn’t have to think of it again.  That was the case for almost all her other dreams.

 

She shed her night clothes and dressed herself in dark blue silk wrap pants that the nobles currently favoured.  With it, she wore a billowing silk shirt, and around that, a thick sash dyed a rich teal.  After brushing out her long black hair, she put on a set of embroidered slippers, and padded out of her chambers, making her way to one of the palace’s dining halls (of which there were two: one favoured by the royals and used in more formal occasions, and the other used by the nobles for everyday purposes.)  Though the adults usually ate in the dining halls, the children often collected their food and ate out in one of the many courtyards throughout the palace.

 

Taking a plate of honey-coated dried plums, cheese and a slice of dense brown bread, she wandered the airy corridors, passing under an arch that took her to one of the courtyards.  This one was empty but for a pair of young lovers feeding each other bits of honeyed sweets, so she trekked onward to another courtyard until she found a group of children, sitting on the edge of the central fountain.  Among them was one of the royal princes and one of the younger princesses.  The emperor’s first wife had died in childbirth, after leaving him six children, and he was now wedded to a second wife who had so far given birth to another four (with one one the way.)  And these were only his legitimate children.  The emperor also had a string of mistresses who had born him numerous illegitimate offspring.

 

Spotting Ursala sitting at the edge of the group, Aristandra sat next to her.  The other children gave her polite ‘hellos’ or nods, which she returned with perfect decorum.  Being of higher status that her, it was necessary for Aristandra to show them due respect, so unlike them, she could not simply nod, but instead had to show greater humility.

 

 “Hallo,” Ursala chirped, her legs swinging childishly.  Ursala did not have the same poise as the royal children, but being only seven, no one would look askance at her posture.

 

 “Hello, Lady Ursala,” Aristandra replied.

 

 “Want to play Rota later?”

 

Aristandra gave Ursala a small smile.  “Yes. I’d like that.”  She broke off a piece of bread and chewed slowly, still trying to shake off the lingering dark feelings.

 

 “Eada says that the others are org’nizing a game of handball later.  Are you gonna to come?”

 

 “The older children?” Aristandra asked.  The younger children often played handball together, but many of the girls stopped playing as they got older, and instead contented themselves with watching the boys (or more athletic girls) play the rather face-paced and rough game.

 

Ursala nodded cheerfully.  “And Prince Quintus and Prince Septimus will be playing.”

 

Aristandra blinked in surprise.  If the princes were going to involved, then casual game or not, there was sure to be large audience that would watch.  “All right.  Will it be after lessons?”

 

 “Yeah,” Ursala responded, wrinkling her nose and fidgeting restlessly as she thought about their sessions with the tutors.  “Oh!  I told my ma about that dream you had.  The skinny bear one.”  Ursala giggled, as she considered the strange image.

 

 “Oh?  What did she say?”  Aristanda tilted her head, curious.  It was rare for her to ever get direct confirmations about her prophetic dreams, and she welcomed any information she could get.  The emperor might be the one using the information, but they were still _her_ dreams.

 

Ursala shook her head slightly.  “She didn’t say anything.  But she looked happy.”

 

Aristandra hummed.  “That’s good, I suppose.  That dream felt pleasant.”  She left out the words: ‘unlike the dream last night.’

 

After breakfast, most of the children shuffled to the library where they would meet with the tutors for their lessons.  The ominous feeling of foreboding was starting to fade, in the face of the ordinariness of the day.  Though many of the children saw the lessons as a burden that kept them from more enjoyable things (such as playing), Aristandra enjoyed her studies.  In some indirect way, the more she learned of the world, the more sense she was able to make of her dreams.  Symbolic though they were, there were moments when she could spot parallels between her night time visions and her daytime studies.

 

The children sat on the floor, fanned out around their tutor in a semi-circle.  She had just settled herself cross-legged at the fringe of the group when a servant quietly approached her from behind.

 

 “Lady seer?”

 

Aristandra twisted around and looked up questioningly.  She hated the title ‘Lady seer,’ but it was what all the servants called her.  It was both weirdly _adult_ (and really, she was no more than a child), and distant at the same time, separating her from those around her.

 

 “Master mage wishes to speak to you,” the servant informed her.  The words caused a chill to ripple down her spine.  Aristandra nodded (unlike the nobles, it was quite appropriate to nod to servants), and excused herself from the group before standing to follow the servant.

 

The pair left the library, turning down a corridor and through a courtyard, around a corner and up a set of stairs.  They took another set of stairs to the upper level of the palace where the mage resided, in a set of chambers that included his personal suite of rooms, his personal library, laboratory and workshop.  The workshop door was open, and the servant announced Aristandra’s arrival.

 

 “You!” the mage exclaimed with his usual rude abruptness.

 

 “Master mage,” Aristandra murmured with a (falsely) respectful bob.

 

 “Come here girl,” he demanded, eyebrows furrowed suspiciously at the servant who quickly departed.  He led her to his laboratory which offered more privacy, shutting the door behind her with an aggressive push.

 

 “Explain this,” he commanded, picking up the scroll upon which she had written her dream, and waving it across her face with sharp emphasis.

 

 “My dream?  I wrote it all down,” Aristandra replied, a slight note of mulishness in her voice, though she kept her chin down.

 

 “I know what you wrote, girl.  I’ll not suffer your impertinence.  Details!  I need details!”

 

Aristandra risked a glance up at the mage.  He looked particularly frazzled, his pointed features somehow more jagged than usual, and his wiry hair sticking up in mad tufts.

 

 “Ah - what do you need to know?”

 

The mage tugged at his hair in frustration.  “How did I end up with someone so hopelessly stupid?!  Details!  The serpent!  Did it have special markings?  Where was it located?  Did you notice any particular sounds?  What angle was the serpent flying at?  Was it headed towards anything?  The petals on its wings - What shape were they?  And I know it’s likely foolish of me to expect you to know this, but what flower were the petals from?  Did the petals fall from the outside of the wings, inward or the other way around?”

 

Aristandra blinked, dazed from the barrage of questions.  “Ah - well - the serpent was green.  I don’t think it had special markings.  Just that weird single tooth and its blue eyes.”  She continued to answer the questions to the best of her abilities, but in truth, there was little more to say than what she had recorded.  As much as she wanted answers about what the dream meant, she dared not question the mage.  Experience taught her that he would not bother to tell her anyway.

 

Despite saying ‘I don’t know’ more times than she could count, the mage continued to bombard her with questions, even though it was clear that her ignorance was pushing his (minimal) patience far past its limits.  Aristandra felt as though she had been trapped with the mage for lifetimes, but eventually, he ran out of things to ask her, and with ill-disguised surliness, he permitted her to leave.

 

She skipped down the stairs and rushed back to the library to catch the tail end of the tutor’s lecture on the ancient city of Colla that had been destroyed and lost in an ancient war that spanned nations.

 

 “Where did you go?” Ursala asked when their lessons were over.

 

 “The Master mage wanted to speak to me.”

 

 “About what?” Ursala questioned, curious.  She, like the other children, had heard all manner of wild rumours about the mage, and what he was capable of.  Changing the weather.  Seeing clearly in the black of night.  Conjuring monstrous creatures to fight in the emperor’s army.  Turning people into animals.  Turning rocks into bread.  Levitating.  For all the hours Aristandra was forced to spend in the mage’s company, she knew as little of him as anyone else did.

 

 “He just wanted to ask me questions about my dream.  I don’t want to talk about it though,” Aristandra said flatly.

 

Later that afternoon, the children made their way towards the palace’s arena, chattering with excitement about the handball game.  The palace arena was nowhere near as large as the public area, but it was still impressive in size.  Unlike the public arena, it was well-maintained and very clean - after all, one could hardly expect royals and nobles to partake in athletics in a place that smelled of blood and sweat and other, fouler bodily fluids.  It was a large, rectangular space, looking almost like an extra-large courtyard.  The edges were lined with a row of stone benches, but most of the spectators simply stood at the perimeter.

 

When the children arrived, there was already a crowd surrounding the arena, humming with anticipation.  Though it may have been an impromptu game, word had spread quickly throughout the palace.  It wasn’t everyday that either the princes or princesses joined in a game of handball, and already, bets were being made about which side would win.

 

To avoid unfairness, each prince would be playing on opposite sides.  That said, there was still a deep-running undercurrent of polarity.  This was because Prince Quintus had been born of the emperor’s first wife, while Prince Septimus was the son of the emperor’s second wife.  Each wife may have been from powerful families, yet they also represented different factions that created an unspoken political divide.

 

The children wormed their way through the crowd, making their way to the front where they could have the best views.  The adults paid little heed to them; it wasn’t as though they were unruly urchins.

 

 “Sermo told me the game would be delayed,” a woman said from behind Aristandra.

 

 “Well, it was hardly planned.  It’s not like the princes would take our time into account,” replied the woman’s companion.

 

 “No, but really, how long does it take to grab a ball, and sort into two teams?”

 

 “It’s the princes we’re talking about.”

 

 “Yes.  Princes.  Not princesses.  They’re not going to be fawning in front of the mirror before a game.”

 

 “The princes are just as vain as the princesses, and you know it.”

 

 “There’s not much that you can do about your looks when you’re just going to get all sweaty and dirty anyway,” the woman pointed out.  “And if the princes are worried about their looks while they’re playing, then it isn’t going to be a good game at all.  That’s not all Sermo said though.”

 

 “Oh?  What else did Sermo tell you?”

 

 “Wouldn’t you like to know?” the woman purred.

 

The woman’s companion huffed in irritation. “You’re the one who brought it up.  Must you draw this out?  You’re going to tell me anyway.”

 

The woman chuckled.  “Yes, I will tell you.  But at least now I know you’re listening.”

 

 “I was listening to you the whole time.”

 

 “And now you’re _really_ listening.”

 

 “Just tell me what Sermo said.”

 

 “Apparently, something has gotten the emperor quite discomposed.  It’s to do with his children - probably the princes, though some people think it might be the princesses.  I heard there was a -” here the woman lowered her voice, “- prophecy.”

 

Aristandra barely managed to stifle her gasp.  It wasn’t the first time that she had heard her dream prophecies mentioned as part of court gossip, but usually, this only occurred long after the prophecy had come to pass.  At this point, the prophecies had already been thoroughly dissected by the mage and clerics, so that the gossips only ever heard the most watered down generalizations of the prophecies.  Few were aware of the details of the dreams themselves.  Already feeling frayed about her day so far, Aristandra could not help but stiffen as she listened to the conversation behind her.

 

 “A prophecy?” the woman’s companion echoed excitedly.  “Did you hear what it was?”

 

 “Of course not!” the woman scoffed.  “You really think the emperor would let information like that get out?  And besides, you know how the prophecies are - only the clerics can make heads or tails of them.”

 

 “Yes but - you know how tight-lipped the emperor is about anything related to his seer’s prophecies, whether it’s the prophecies themselves, who they relate to, or even his own actions and reactions.  He’s always been completely inscrutable about them before, important or not.  Who saw him discomposed?”

 

 “I don’t know,” the woman said, sounding slightly irritable.  “Sermo didn’t say.  But you know Sermo - he wouldn’t make anything up.”

 

 “That’s true.  It must be serious then.  If it’s something to do with Prince Quintus or Septimus, they’d likely cancel the game.”

 

 “You think it is?”

 

 “I don’t know!  I didn’t hear about this until you told me!”

 

 “You don’t have to take that tone with me,” the woman grumbled.  “I just wanted to know what you thought.”

 

 “Sorry - it’s just a lot to think about.  Hex it!  If only we knew what that rumour was.  It would help to know which way the winds blow.  Who else knows about this?”

 

Before the woman could reply, there was a movement in the crowd as people were gently pushed aside to make way for the handball players.

 

 “Finally!” the woman behind Aristandra exclaimed, in hushed tones.  It would have been ill-mannered to make such an outburst loudly, and at court, everyone was conscious of their manners.

 

The two princes and a group of youth walked out onto the arena.  They weren’t all boys - there were three girls among them wearing battle-ready expressions.  Handball was a fast-paced and rough game.  Combined with the heavy heat of Mahalan’s climate, the game was usually played shirtless.  The boys entered, bare-chested, while the girls wore nothing but binding around their breasts.  To demarcate the two teams, battle paint was used, with a long vertical stripe slathered by hand across the torso and back.  It was to be white versus blue.

 

Aristandra had been disappointed that the conversation behind her had been cut off.  She had been curious to know who else knew about the rumour of the prophecy; however, once the two teams stood across one another on the arena, the conversation slipped from her mind, as she was swept up in the crowd’s excitement about the impromptu game.  Knowing that it would be prince against prince only made it more exciting.

 

 “Who do you want to win?” Ursala said from beside her.

 

Aristandra eyed the teams, her expression thoughtful.  “I think Prince Septimus.  He smiles more.”  That and as the younger prince, the children saw more of Prince Septimus than they did of Prince Quintus.  But what Aristandra said was true - Septimus had a sunny disposition, and a ready smile for anyone whose eyes he met.  While it was true that the royal children were expected to keep their masks neutral, Septimus seemed to break that rule with that upturned quirk of his lips.  But for all anyone knew, perhaps Septimus’s smiling face was his mask.  If so, he wore it well.

 

 “Me too,” Ursala agreed.

 

The match began without pretension.  It was meant to be a ‘casual’ game after all, though at court, it was impossible to see anything related to the royals as being casual.  The ball moved swiftly from player to player, as they leapt and ran and tripped one another in an attempt to claim the ball and score a goal.  Body-checks were a permitted part of play, and the players were ruthless in their willingness to slam into shoulders or trip feet.  Even the princes weren’t exempt from the rough treatment, baring their teeth like snarling wolves as they faced their opponents.

 

At the moment, Prince Septimus had the ball, and he broke into a terrifying grin that promised pain just as a pair of the opposing players charged towards him.  A light seemed to gleam from his mouth, causing Aristandra’s stomach to lurch with a sickening twist.  She was so used to seeing it that she didn’t give it much thought, but it struck her then that Prince Septimus had a gold tooth - one of his canines - that he had lost during sparring practice, and had been replaced by the mage.  One gold tooth - the winged serpent in her dream only had one fang.  Could it be?  Prince Septimus even had blue eyes (though in truth, over half the royal children had blue eyes, and the other half had grey.)

 

Aristandra had stopped paying attention to the game.  The cheers and applause of the crowd faded as Aristandra felt herself gripped by the merciless talons of fear.  Was there a way she could stop this?  But she didn’t even know what it was that she needed to stop.  She felt as though she could hardly breath, like a great boa constrictor had her in its cold grasp, squeezing, squeezing.  Why had the emperor allowed Prince Septimus to play today?  Surely he knew.  Surely the mage or the clerics told him.

 

Though Aristandra was expecting something terrible to happen, it didn’t make it any easier when disaster finally struck.  Prince Septimus had just scored a goal, elated that he had given his team a further lead.  He had a fist up in the air, a proud gesture of victory, and his grin was so wide that it seemed to split his face.  Before he had even lowered his arm, the grin was swept from his face, and his eyes widened in surprise.  A strangled gurgling sound escaped from his throat, and his arm dropped just as his legs buckled and he fell to his knees.

 

His teammates swarmed around him, and were calling his name, their voices a upraised mix of bewilderment and concern; it was hard to tell what was even happening, and Prince Septimus was in no position to tell them.  The prince did not remain on his knees for long.  Even those weren’t enough to support him, for he had fallen over, and was laying on his side, still making a horrifying wet choking noise.  His skin was rapidly becoming mottled, and before the ghastly purple colour completely overtook his pale skin, there was already the shrill sound of screaming, cutting through the arena like shards of glass.

 

Panic overtook the crowd.  Though they may have been royals and nobles, fear clutched their hearts with the same blind cruelty as it did to even the lowliest of beggars.  Aristandra found herself clinging to the stone bench, afraid of being crushed, and desperate for some sort of anchor.  She did not know what had become of Ursala or the other children.  She did not precisely know what had happened to Prince Septimus.  But she knew that whatever it was, it was horrible because the screaming hadn’t ended, and the chaotic tramp of footfalls hadn’t ceased.  

 

What happened next remained a blur to her.  A servant or perhaps a cleric had found her.  She had been led away from the arena, through the palace and up the stairs until she was back at the mage’s quarters.  She was sat down on a cushioned bench pushed against the wall, and then seemingly forgotten.  The contrast of the quietness here was strange, so very different from the deafening sounds of panic in the arena.  It made her feel as though she had been frozen in time and her mind did not help, replaying the scene over and over in her head.  At one point, the mage had entered the room.  He blinked when he noticed her small presence, said: “Oh.  You’re here” and then promptly left, having far too many things to deal with.

 

She eventually returned to her own quarters, aware as she walked through the corridors that the atmosphere in the palace had completely changed.  The air felt heavy with tension and dread.  People spoke in whispers, as though their normal volume would somehow be inappropriate.  She thought that she heard the word ‘prophecy’ uttered more than once, but it could have been in her head - some product of an overextended mind.  But there was another word that was bandied about that felt like rough-hewn stake jabbed through her heart: ‘dead.’  Over and over: ‘dead.  He’s dead.  He died.  Dead.’  Prince Septimus would never smile again.


	2. Chapter 2

Her dream that night was blessedly insipid, consisting of a blue-green coloured vine clinging to the side of a large wooden ship.  It was almost disappointing to have to wake from the peaceful placidness of the image.  Most mornings, she tended to dwell on her dreams, turning the ambiguous images over and over in her mind, like a smooth polished stone.  But this morning, her dream held no sway.  As dutiful as ever, she recorded her dream on the scroll, but all the while, she kept thinking of Prince Septimus - of the sound of wet choking, and dying serpents, and that violet-purple colour, the shade of vividly bruised skin.

 

The changes this day were even more pronounced than the day before.  She had chosen to wear all white, the colour of death and mourning, and she was not alone in that decision.  As she trod through the corridors, she was distinctly aware of the way that voices fell silent as she came near; of the stares that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, though if she turned to meet the stares, the eyes would quickly avert.

 

Entering the dining room had been worse.  She had never caused an entire room to fall silent before, and instead of bravely heading forward and grabbing her breakfast, she turned tail and ran.  She was unable to find any of the other children - at one point, she thought she caught a glimpse of one of the noble children, but their eyes had widened and they quickly dashed off, afraid to even endure her proximity.  She returned to her chambers, her misery compounded.  A while later, a servant came for her, to take her back up to the mages chambers.

 

 “There you are!  Impossible girl!” the mage exclaimed when she entered the room.

 

 “Master mage,” Aristandra greeted flatly.  He may have been the only person willing to speak to her at the moment, but she still didn’t like him.

 

 “Word got out about the prophecy,” the mage informed her, rather needlessly. “Caused quite a ruckus.  I truly didn’t need the added trouble.”  He scowled at her as though it had been her fault.  

 

Aristandra’s lips twisted downwards.  She didn’t know how the mage could even be bothered by any sort of ruckus when a prince was dead.  A poisonous thread of guilt was weaving its way into her heart, and she found herself wondering if she could have stopped the terrible events of yesterday.  Could she have changed things?  Was there something she could have done so that Prince Septimus could have lived?

 

 “It was the purple plague,” the mage continued, unaware (or more accurately, indifferent) to Aristandra’s misery.  “Rare disease, that.  In light of recent events, I’m going to need you to tell me about yesterday’s dream again.”

 

And so, Aristandra found herself woodenly repeating her recollections of the previous, terrible dream.  When the mage was finally finished with her, he shooed her off, with the muttered word: ‘useless.’  The word cut her to her core - she had been useless.  She had a prophetic dream, and yet she hadn’t been able to do anything to help Prince Septimus.  What was the sense of it all?

 

The days following Prince Septimus’s death were some of the loneliest days of Aristandra’s life, marked by countless tears that the rest of the world seemed indifferent to.  It was uncommon for Aristandra’s prophecies to get out, and the fact that this one did, and in such a dramatic fashion, meant that it coloured people’s perceptions of Aristandra in a very negative light.  No one actually knew the detailed contents of the prophecy, aside from the mages, clerics and the emperor.  The rumours were grossly exaggerated, and the prevailing story was that Aristandra had dreamed of a crown-wearing winged serpent choking and writhing around in mass of its own purple blood.

 

No one wanted to associate with Aristandra.  It was as though they believed that she wore the taint of death, and her very existence was the equivalent of an ill-omen.  She saw Ursala in the dining hall once (before Ursala’s family finally moved away), and the other girl had paled and nearly fainted at the sight of her.  The other children gave her an extremely wide berth, treating her like an infectious disease that needed to be avoided at all costs.  Her group lessons with the tutor had been suspended, and later, a cleric had been assigned to her so that she could continue her education, even if it was a solitary one.

 

Her feelings of guilt embedded itself deep within her, holding her captive in a state of abject misery.  She could not confide her feelings to anyone.  In desperation, she had even sought out her old nurse, but the woman refused to have anything to do with Aristandra.  Those eyes, which had once looked at her with a gruff sort of affection, now looked at her with an expression somewhere between dismay and revulsion.

 

It was a long while before Aristandra even found out what the purple plague was.  No one was willing to speak of it in front of her, and even her cleric teacher avoided the topic, discouraging questions of any sort, and adhering to a strict curriculum that she refused to deviate from.  Aristandra hadn’t wanted to know the details of how Prince Septimus had died.  She didn’t want to face the reality of his suffering.

 

In the end, she found the answers in a book, after a snippet of overheard gossip had hooked her curiosity, quite against her will.  At this point, Prince Septimus was long gone, having been cremated months ago.  The grief over his death still lingered, but the brutally sharp edge of it had blunted.  The truth was both better and worse than what she had thought.  

 

The purple plague was not a true plague, for it wasn’t easily transmitted from person to person.  It was as the mage once mentioned, a rather rare disease.  The plague itself killed its victims in a horrifying manner, causing their blood vessels to burst, so that their skin turned a vivid shade of purple, while they choked on their own blood.  

 

To think that Prince Septimus had suffered such a fate brought stinging tears to Aristandra’s eyes, and the image of it haunted her thoughts.  If she had been capable of having nightmares, then the purple plague would have played a starring role.  Instead, the purple plague became Aristandra’s proverbial monster under her bed.  She found herself imagining drowning in her own blood, watching the creeping purple taking over her skin.  She was tormented by the idea of that state of helplessness, where one was betrayed by their own body.  It reminded her of her own mortality, and of the inescapability of death.  Fear became her constant companion.

 

And yet, learning of the purple plague also alleviated her guilt.  She discovered that the disease was contracted weeks before it actually killed its victim, with little to no symptoms.  When Prince Septimus had finally succumbed to the fatal effects of the plague, he had already been sick for weeks, even if no one knew it.  By the time Aristandra had her prophetic dream, there was nothing that she could have done to save him.  Though it did not feel good to replace her deep guilt with deep fear, at least she did not have to suffer both.

 

Over time, Aristandra’s isolation became her familiar reality.  The other children remained distant from her, but they learned to tolerate her presence, treating her as though she were a ghost that needed to be endured.  Whatever threads of connection that she once might have felt for them were shorn off, so that their cares were no longer her cares, and their world no longer made sense to her.  In some ways, she retreated into her own mind, drawing her solitude around her like a cloak, protecting her from harsh elements.  She threw herself into her education, and slipped away into the soft world of daydreams where she was free: free of the palace, free of the fear of others, free to be herself.  Would others like her better if they did not know her history?  In her daydreams, people were willing to give her a chance.  In her daydreams, people understood.

 

But Aristandra did not entirely live within her own mind.  She found herself paying more and more attention to animals.  Animals were like people in some ways, and unlike them in so many other ways.  If they feared her, it was because they feared all humans, and not because they feared her abilities.  She often watched the way that the birds interacted in the courtyards for hours on end.  She watched the colourful fish that lived in the fountains.  She befriended the slinking cats that leapt atop walls, and sunned themselves on the terraces.  She petted and coddled the dogs that sniffed around the palace, eager for scraps.  Sometimes, she even found herself observing the spiders and beetles and ants that made their way into the palace.

 

Aristandra learned that many individual animals had their own personalities, just as people did.  And sometimes, she would encounter a creature that acted so contrary to others of its species that she found herself wondering.  One of the more oft-repeated rumours about the mage was his ability to turn people into animals (and some said he could even turn animals into people.)  It was claimed that criminals and other prisoners were often punished this way.  Some believed that the mage cursed the emperor’s enemies in battle by turning them into creatures that could be easily scattered.  Others were sure that the emperor killed off his political opponents, and replaced them with animals-turned-human so that they were more easily controlled.

 

Like most of the children and a large portion of the adults, Aristandra believed these rumours about the mage.  Though she met up with him monthly and often saw him at his work (which involved a great deal of note-taking, and meticulous experimentation in his laboratory), she had never actually witnessed him performing large-scale magic.  But she did sometimes see little things.  Once, she saw him sprinkling a shimmering powder upon a seed, and it immediately grew roots, a stem and leaves, and finally bloomed into a vibrant pink flower.  Another time, she walked into his lab only to see a small stormcloud thundering ominously.  The mage tended to become rather irritable if he ever caught her staring at him as he worked his magic, so these moments were rare.

 

And so, whenever Aristandra witnessed an animal acting strangely, she would think: ‘ _ perhaps that mouse was once a man or woman _ ’ or ‘ _ maybe that bird used to be a criminal _ ’ or  _ ‘I don’t think a cat would do something like that.  Could it be a person instead? _ ’  It was the mice and rats that Aristandra wondered about the most.  She would see the little creatures do the oddest things: approaching people when they ought to run away; attempting to climb up tables; or trying to pick up things with their little paws when it was clear that they wouldn’t be able to get a grip.  And considering the rumour of the emperor's brutal harshness towards criminals, and the mage’s rather pitiless personality, it stuck Aristandra as very plausible.

 

She had tried to help them, more than once in fact.  There had been two or three that had allowed her to pick them up and take her to her chambers.  She had fed them, and left them bowls of water, and allowed them to nest in a the soft fabric of one of her more worn-out shirts.  But somehow, the servants always discovered the little creatures, and Aristandra would never see them again.  The first time it had happened, she had cried about the loss for days.  The poor little mouse had kept her company for a week and a half, and she had poured her heart out to it, and cared for it, and offered it scraps of her most favourite treats.  She had guessed at its name (the mouse shook its head at all her suggestions until she came across a name that it finally nodded at.)  When it vanished after a week, she had been in a panic.  She searched every corner of her chambers for it, and in the end, she had been desperate enough to ask one of the servants about it.  The servant had replied by saying: “I set one of the cats upon the dreadful little pest.”  And with those careless words, Aristandra felt as though her heart had been wrenched out of her chest.  Over time, she learned to keep a wall between the creatures and herself.

 

The occasional companionship of animals never truly took away Aristandra’s loneliness and sense of isolation.  The coldness and fear that she could see in the eyes of the people around her was something that pierced her deeply.  Though she learned to wear her face like a mask, much as the royal children did, it never hurt her any less.  Her daydreams shifted and changed, and ere long, she was imagining herself running away.  Out in the metropolis below, no one would know her name or face.  Down there, she would be just another person, and people wouldn’t shun her or fear her.

 

A little before Aristandra turned nine, she made her first runaway attempt.  She wasn’t guarded or heavily monitored, though she kept a regular schedule, and her absence would have been noticed sooner more so than later, if only because of the empty scrolls on her bedside table.  Having lived her entire life in the palace, she had no idea of what to expect of life outside of it.  Though she had been given an extensive education, nothing she learned pertained to matters of everyday life.  She had never had to consider how to acquire food, or how to use money, or the necessity of having useful skills that one could offer in return for wages.  Though her prophetic abilities could be considered a skill of sorts, she had never been paid a single coin for her efforts.

 

Aristandra snuck out of the palace with only the clothes she had been wearing, and a cloak to shadow her face and keep her warm.  As an afterthought, she snatched a crust of bread to take with her, though only because the nervous flutters in her stomach stopped her from eating her supper.  It had been early evening - she would have been missed had she tried to leave in the morning.  It was really as simple as just walking out the the doors and down past the massive wooden gates; the gates served more to keep unsavoury elements out of the palace, than to lock the inhabitants in.

 

Wandering down the stone paved road, she made her way down to the gleaming metropolis below.  The difference between the city and the palace fascinated her.  While the palace was built of smooth stones, the structures in the city were composed of clay bricks, sandy-white in colour.  Within the city, the roads narrowed, and there seemed to be people everywhere.  The garments worn by the citizens of the metropolis were much plainer than anything worn by the royals or nobles.  It reminded Aristandra of the garments worn by the servants, made of coarser materials and dull colours.

 

Just as striking as the unusual sights were the smells.  Aristandra had not realized how different the city would smell from the palace.  Here, the odor of human bodies was stronger.  There was also the underlying scent of animal and human waste, that brought to mind the emperor's aviary or stables, but fouler.  The air also had a curious spicy quality that Aristandra was unable to define, and for some reason, it seemed so much more dusty.

 

At some point, Aristandra felt brave enough to lower the hood of her cloak, and to her pleasure, no one appeared to look at her with odd or frightened glances.  Here, she was just another girl, with nothing to distinguish her from the other children she spotted running around the streets (unless one counted silk clothes, and cleanliness as a distinguishing feature.)  But darkness was soon falling.  It occurred to Aristandra that she needed to find some place to sleep, but where?  She realized then that she was terribly unprepared for this venture.

 

Gathering up her courage, she stopped a passing pedestrian and asked her where she could find a place to sleep.  The harried-looking woman took in Aristandra’s appearance.  Noting that Aristandra did not look anything like a street urchin, the woman gave her directions to the nearby inns before bustling off.  After taking several wrong turns, and becoming increasingly anxious, Aristandra finally came upon the inn, which bore a brightly painted sign, proclaiming it was the ‘Anemone Garden Inn.’

 

Exhaling a grateful breath of relief, Aristandra pushed open the door and entered the glowing warmth of the inn.  The building opened into an wide space with several round tables and chairs where dusty-looking people sat with plates of food and clay cups before them.  Unlike the palace, the floor here was not tile, but instead, seemed to be made of the same sandy-white clay-brick material as the buildings, and covered with woven-grass mattings.  In the far corner was a long ‘L’ shaped counter, and behind it were numerous clay jugs.  A plump woman stood behind the counter, pouring mead from the clay jugs into cups.  With hesitant steps, Aristandra approached the woman.

 

 “Excuse me?” Aristandra squeaked shyly, feeling entirely out of her element.

 

The plump woman finished pouring the mead, and set the jug aside, looking down at Aristandra with open curiosity.

 

 “Are you lost, lamb?” the woman queried.  “Where’s your parents?”

 

 “Ah - I don’t have parents,” Aristandra replied.  “I need a place to sleep.”

 

The woman gave Aristandra a long piercing look, before tsk-ing in disapproval.  “Run away from home, have you?”

 

 “Ah - no?” Aristandra lied, even as she felt her cheeks flame red.

 

The woman rolled her eyes and shook her head before sighing.  “It’s twelve aeramen for a night.”

 

Aristandra stood fixed the floor, her mind racing as she realized that she had no money.  She knew of money of course - the tutors had taught the children about gold aurum, silver argentum and bronze aeramen (and how to properly count them,) but Aristandra had never had to use money in any practical sense.

 

 “I don’t have any money,” Aristandra admitted with disappointment.

 

 “I’m sorry, lamb, you can’t stay here.  Best you return home, yes?” the woman replied, her voice softening.

 

Aristandra gave her a miserable nod before leaving the inn.  She wandered the dark streets with a dismayed aimlessness, until her feet ached, and she sat down, her back pressed to a wall.  In her exhaustion, she managed to fall asleep in the awkward position.  Despite the unrestful sleep, Aristandra still had a prophetic dream; however, unlike usual, her dream was interrupted as she was forced away by a loud shoo-ing.  She woke with a jerk, her entire body screaming with prickling discomfort, while above her, an angry looking matron prodded at her with a broom.

 

 “Shoo!” the ruddy woman scolded.  “Get away from here, wretch.  This is no place for you.  Shoo!”

 

Bewildered by the rude awakening, Aristandra stumbled to her feet, wobbling precariously as she tried to find her balance.  Her body had never hurt so much, from her bottom which had been pressed to the hard ground, to her back which felt agonizingly stiff.  She stumbled away, as the matron grumbled about ‘wretched urchins.’

 

Once she was away from the irritable woman, Aristandra became aware of the pressing need to urinate.  Unfortunately, she had no idea where she could go to take care of such bodily functions.  In the end, to her utter mortification, she found an alleyway where she voided her bladder, burning with shame all the while.  But at least that need was relatively easy to take care of.  The grumbling of her stomach provided yet another problem that needed to be dealt with.

 

Though her feet protested, Aristandra continued her explorations of the metropolis.  As the morning grew late, the streets became more crowded, and although no one paid any heed to one small girl, Aristandra was no longer quite so grateful for her anonymity.  Not when she was sore and tired and hungry.  She was growing accustomed to the pungent odors of the city, but a new scent soon caught her nose: the smell of food.

 

Following the smell, Aristandra made her way to the city’s central marketplace.  Here, the crowd was even thicker, with bodies that constantly brushed against her shoulders or stepped on her tender feet.  It was shockingly noisy: the clacking of carts against the paved-stone roads, the shouts of vendors, the thumps and bangs of merchandise being moved, the clucking or braying or honking of animals, the hum of gossiping shoppers.

 

Aristandra had never seen so much  _ stuff _ all in one place.  She didn’t even recognize half of what the various vendors were selling at their stalls or shops.  She did, however, recognize food.  Guided by her senses, she eventually came to a stall where a swarthy man was making and selling flatbread, freshed baked in a clay oven.  

 

Perhaps if she wasn’t tired, aching and ravenous, she would have given her actions more thought.  She was so accustomed to food being simply available, that the issue of money was forgotten.  Reaching out, she grabbed a still-warm round of flatbread and bit into it, closing her mouth as the delicious taste hit her tongue.  She didn’t manage more than a single bite when she felt a rough hand clamping around her wrist.

 

 “Have you any aeramen for that bread?” a coarse voice demanded, as its owner squeezed her wrist in a painful grip.

 

Aristandra’s eyes widened in both pain and shock as she looked up at the imposing baker, whose beady eyes narrowed in anger in his broad face.  She replied with a fearful shake of her head.

 

The man made a noise that sounded like a growl.  He looked away from her and barked out: “Brunus!  Get the constable!”

 

The shout drew curious looks from the crowd, and distressingly, the onlookers’ lips curled with disgust and disdain as they peered down their noses at Aristandra.  She trembled in the face of the negative attention, and the baker’s unyielding grip around her wrist.  Before long, an austere looking woman in a severe black uniform with a bright red waist-sash approached.

 

 “Trouble?” she asked in a contralto voice, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of the sabre at her side.

 

 “Yes, constable,” the baker replied in respectful tones.  “We’ve got a thief here.”  He wrenched his hand forward, causing Aristandra to stumble forwards.

 

The constable looked down at Aristandra with cold, assessing eyes.  Her gaze returned to the baker.

 

 “I’ll be taking her then,” the constable informed him in her stern voice.

 

The baker finally released Aristandra, who rubbed at the tender skin that was sure to be bruised by tomorrow.  But not a second later, the constable had her by the arm.

 

 “Come along then,” the woman said ordered, pulling Aristandra away from the baker’s stall and into the crowd.  The constable led her through the streets, winding this way and that, until they arrived at an unassuming building, aside from a man in a red and black uniform standing guard at the door.  The man gave the constable a firm salute before she entered the building, with Aristandra trailing behind her.

 

The constable led her through a corridor, and then down a flight of steps into the cold cellar. Aristandra was then pushed into an iron-barred cell and locked in.  The cell contained nothing more than a pile of musty straw in one of the corners and a foul smelling basin in the other.  It didn’t even contain a window.  Aristandra turned away from the wall, and looked back at the constable, who was examining her with with inscrutable eyes.

 

 “Did you run away from home?” the woman asked.  The question wasn’t a friendly one.

 

Intimidated by the constable (and the entire situation she found herself in), Aristandra didn’t dare to lie.  “Yes.”

 

The constable made a humming noise.  “Fortunately for you, it’s obvious from your clothes and your bearing that you’ve lived a privileged life.  Most thieves have their eye gouged out as punishment for their first transgression, and their hand removed as punishment for their second one.”

 

The constable’s words sent a horrible chill down Aristandra’s spine.  She didn’t dare to ask what the punishment would be for a third transgression.

 

 “I’ll have the word sent out for your family to come and collect you.”  With that, the constable turned around and left Aristandra alone in the cold, forbidding cell.

 

After an indeterminable amount of time that felt like an eternity, the constable returned, with a palace servant following behind her.  Weary of standing, Aristandra had sat down against the wall, as far away from the questionable basin as possible.  She had slept at some point, and woke up as achy and stiff as the the first time she fell asleep sitting against a hard wall.  There was little to do in the tiny cell, aside from thinking of how much of a failure her attempt at running away had been.  It made her starkly aware of how sheltered her life at the palace had been - she knew next to nothing about how to function in the outside world.  Her thoughts were broken when she heard the footfalls of the the constable and the servant.

 

The constable opened her cell without a word - the only sound was the grating shriek of metal against metal.  Instead of admonishments, she received a long look from the constable that made her want to sink into the ground.  It was only when the constable finally looked away that Aristandra felt that she could breath again.  They were led out of the cellar, and escorted out the door.  At the exit, the austere woman gave the palace servant a curt nod before returning to the depths of the constabulary stronghold.

 

The return trip back to the palace was anticlimactic, and once she was back within the palace walls, it was as if she had never left.  No one seemed to have missed her, and when she met up with her cleric teacher for her lessons, the woman acted as if Aristandra hadn’t done anything amiss.  Back in the familiar setting of the palace, she felt an odd rush of gratitude mingled with a deeper sort of distress.  The palace was as much a prison as the cell had been, and she hated that some part of her was glad to be back.  Yet, here, she had a life of comfort, with as much food as she wanted to eat, a soft, warm bed, and luxurious public baths with scented water.  If the palace was a cage, it was a comfortable one.

 

Falling back into the mundane pattern of her life, Aristandra resigned herself to the feelings of loneliness and isolation.  She continued to spend much of her free time observing animals, enjoying their uncomplicated affection, but she did not permit herself to get too close to them.  Over time, her observation of animals spilled over into other areas, and became observations of people.  After all, people were animals, of sorts.  In many ways, people were easier to read than animals - facial expressions could make a person’s message rather obvious.  But in other ways, people were much more complicated to understand than animals; there were times when they would say one thing with their mouths, while saying something entirely different with their face and bodies.  Aristandra came to trust the message of body language more than the words that spilled from people’s mouths.

 

Her observations did not make her feel any closer to the people around her, but they did help her to understand more and more about the political undercurrents in the palace.  Even the servants had their own power struggles with each other.  To Aristandra, it appeared as though people were constantly striving toward a position of dominance and power over others.  Those who were more submissive clung tightly to those that had power, as though some primal part of them sought out protection against both known and unknown dangers.

 

The hierarchical behaviour was most pronounced among the children.  There was often one or two in a group that seemed to lead the rest.  When she considered the role of the royals, it was even more interesting.  She started to become aware that some of the princes and princesses almost seemed to want to fall into a submissive position, but they would keep their masks firmly in place, and force themselves into a more dominant role.  The adults could be more confusing with their actions because unlike the children, they could not easily air out their disputes.  And when an adult had a dominating personality, but found themselves trapped in a low status position, it was a clear recipe for conflict and trouble.

 

Yet, for all her observations about people, Aristandra did not become any better at socializing with them.  Her isolation ran too deeply, and the mask she wore was an icy one, that silently warned others to keep their distance.  Life had taught her that those that got too close to her would be the ones that hurt her the most.  So, on top of her prophetic abilities, Aristandra gained a reputation for being cold.  There were some who even interpreted her coldness as a sort of condescension.  However, no one knew that beneath the glacial exterior was a girl who longed for love and acceptance.  That part of her was hidden away and so well buried that sometimes, Aristandra could even fool herself into thinking that she was no more than a frigid seer who needed nobody.

  
After Aristandra’s runaway attempt, she did not try to do so again, but that did not stop her from thinking and daydreaming about it.  Though it wasn’t a conscious decision on her part, she ended up gravitating towards the library, trying to find information about what life was like for common folk.  Sadly, such information was very scarce.  Aristandra knew that she would need money, but she had no sense of how much she would need.  She didn’t even know how she would go about getting money in the first place.  But when she found out about the concept of apprenticeships, it gave her daydreams an added depth of hope and possibility.  None of her plans were practical.  Living such a sheltered life, Aristandra wouldn’t even have a sense of what it meant to be practical in the outside world.  Yet, she clung to her fantasies, somehow convincing herself that as long as she kept the dream of freedom alive, then she wasn’t giving up.


	3. Chapter 3

The next major change in Aristandra’s life occurred when she was eleven.  The population of nobles, courtiers, clerics and even servants at the palace was not a static thing.  People came and went: nobles often returned to their ancestral homes for long stretches of time; acolytes came to the palace to train under the clerics; new staff were hired to take on the various roles that allowed the palace to run smoothly.  When Aristandra was younger, she used to think of the new faces as a source of hope.  A part of her would think that if those people didn’t know her from that infamous day of the Prince Septimus’s death, then they wouldn’t fear her, and they wouldn’t look at her askance.  That hope was proved wrong of course - Aristandra had misjudged the power of gossip and rumours.  It didn’t take it long for her to learn just how quickly people would judge her, after hearing one or two choice phrases.

 

Thus, when a new boy arrived at the palace, Aristandra did not harbour any unrealistic expectations that the boy would like her anymore than anyone else did (which is to say that she assumed he would not like her at all.)  Of course, the boy was no ordinary boy.  Rather, it would have been more accurate to say that he was rather extraordinary, for he was more than just a noble.  In fact, he was a prince.

 

The boy’s name was Leander, and he was the youngest son of a monarch from a neighbouring principality named Daelyn.  The principality of Daelyn had long had a factious relationship with the emperor's empire.  It was the principality’s fortunate (and well fortified) location and powerful defences that prevented the principality from being annexed by the empire.  A recent skirmish between the two nations had lead to Leander’s capture.  Unlike most of the nobles that stayed in within the Mahala Palace, Leander was not here willingly; he was a royal hostage.

 

Hostage or not, Leander was still a prince, and was treated in a manner that befit his station.  Though he was not permitted to leave the palace, everyone behaved as though he were a royal guest rather than a royal prisoner.

 

At twelve, Leander was a year older than Aristandra.  Being a prince, he was bound to receive a great deal of attention, but beyond that, he was also remarkably striking in appearance.  He had tawny golden hair that grazed his shoulders, and pale hazel eyes that looked like gleaming amber.  With his angular jaw, aquiline nose and the sharp slash of his brows, he conveyed an aura of powerful intensity, despite his youth.  Part of the reason for that was that Leander was so  _ angry _ .  While most youth would be thrilled at the opportunity to enjoy the decadent and luxurious lifestyle of Mahala Palace, hostage or not, being trapped here grated against Leander’s fierce pride.

 

Many of the young nobles as well as the emperor’s children had attempted to befriend Leander.  The principality of Daelyn may have been small, but it was also influential and rich in natural resources.  Only a fool would have antagonized Leander, even if he was confined in the palace against his will.  But all overtures had been rebuffed, sometimes coldly, and other times with cutting contempt.  Leander seemed view everyone at Mahala Palace with a lens resentment, as though each and everyone of them were personally responsible for his unwanted fate.

 

Aristandra was no more than mildly curious about Leander at first.  Unlike most of the others, she had made no attempt to approach him; in truth, she never approached newcomers, no matter how high or low their status.  Though only eleven, she already had a rather pessimistic perception of human nature, and little evidence on the contrary to dissuade her of her negative beliefs.  Nonetheless, though Aristandra did not give an undue amount of thought towards Leander’s presence at court, she was still aware of him.  She would have had to be both blind and deaf to be ignorant of Leander; he was all that anyone seemed to wanted to discuss.

 

She had seen him in passing of course - there were moments when she caught him stalking through the corridors or courtyards with long angry strides, or sitting in the dining hall, absently playing with a carving knife in a display of casual hostility.  She was aware that he was handsome, but handsomeness itself was nothing special.  There were many pretty faces in the palace, and even those who were not pretty could resort to paints, powders and rouge to enhance their features.  Aristandra might not have watched him to admire his expressive face.  But she did observe him, the way she observed so many others.

 

Aristandra could not deny that Leander was compelling.  But to Aristandra, it was Leander’s open anger that fascinated her.  She was accustomed to the expressionless masks of the royals, or the artful manners of the nobles.  Political maneuverings, deception and manipulation were so common that such behaviour could have been described as the norm.  But Aristandra did not only watch the royals, nobles and courtiers.  She also observed the clerics and servants, the craftsmen and poets, and of course, the animals.  It was the animals most of all that gave Aristandra her sense of appreciation for honesty and forthrightness.  Animals might posture and feint, but they did not lie, the way that humans did.

 

Aristandra was fascinated by Leander’s anger because of its animal quality.  To see someone’s emotions displayed so baldly upon their face was noteworthy in an environment where guile was expected.  And just as arresting was Leander’s rejection of everyone around him.  In a way, Leander was just as alone as Aristandra, but there were also vast differences in their circumstances.  Whereas most of the court seemed to want to befriend Leander, or at least associate with him, no one wanted to befriend Aristandra.  They may have both been isolated from others, but Leander could choose to end his isolation at any moment with no more than a charming smile.

 

Aristandra did not think that Leander had noticed her.  But at this point in her life, she had learned to be unseen by others.  From the cats, she learned to tread silently.  From the mice and rats, she learned to take note of areas of shadows where she could best remain hidden.  From the spiders, she learned the value of stillness.  As for the birds, they only made her yearn for wings to fly far from here.  No, it was unlikely that Leander would have taken heed of her because he was blinded by his own emotions - that dark, roiling fury that longed for retaliation.

 

But Aristandra saw details that were often overlooked by others.  She paid careful attention to the expressions and body language of others: the sharp or smooth gestures of hands, the raising or lowering of brows, the loose or tense muscles of the shoulders, the small upturns or downturns of lips, the tilt of a stubborn or yielding chin.  

 

Leander was rapidly gaining a reputation of arrogance and pretentiousness.  The court assumed that because he was angry, cold and contemptuous, it meant that he saw himself as their superior.  They believed that he thought himself too royal and high-blooded to fraternize with them.  Aristandra knew that it was otherwise.  Mahala Palace held no shortage of pompous and pretentious personages.  That lofty attitude was easy enough to spot, and in many ways it was similar to Leander’s actions: disdainful sneers, icy glances, up-tilted chins, and cutting words spoken with an offhanded indifference.  But while those arrogant nobles carried their haughtiness with a nonchalant ease, Leander wore his arrogance as an armour.  He was angry, yes, but Aristandra couldn’t help but think that he was also scared.

 

Whether he was scared or not, Aristandra kept her distance from Leander.  Weeks passed, and all the while, Leander seemed to believe that any moment, he would be freed.  He was as restless as a wild-caught tiger in an overly small cage, ever ready to spring.  But with each passing day, the heat of the fire within him appeared to burn a little less brightly, and poisonous despair leached further and further into his spirit.  As little as Aristandra wanted to directly involve herself in the lives of others, she could not help but be moved by Leander’s plight.

 

After a month, very few of the nobles endeavoured to befriend Leander.  They treated him with a distant graciousness, born out of habit rather than any sort of genuine feeling.  Leander may have chosen to cut himself off from the people around him, but Leander wasn’t Aristandra.  He wasn’t accustomed to prolonged isolation.  In his home in the principality of Daelyn, he had been surrounded by friends and family - people that he trusted and cared about, who understood him and had his best interests at heart.  Here in Mahalan, there was nobody.

 

After two months, Leander’s blazing anger was reduced to a low simmer.  It could still be seen, in the tightness of his jaw, and the tension of his body, but his amber eyes no longer flashed with the same sharp-edged fury.  Resentment had sunk deep into his bones, but he had no outlet for the corrosive feelings within him.  Aristandra watched him more carefully than ever.  She did not make an effort to seek him out, but like most people, he was a creature of habit, and she was aware of the courtyards and terraces he prefered, and the section of the library that he tended to peruse.

 

Without consciously realizing it, she was perhaps projecting her own feelings onto to him.  She had never encountered someone who carried the same burden of aloneness as her.  There were people in the palace who were loners or solitary souls, but even those people had someone they could talk to sometimes.  Most of the loners were much older than her anyway: clerics who cared more for scrolls than socialization or ill-tempered old nobles who spent too much time talking about their aches and pains.  Leander differed from them because he was so close to her in age.

 

Aristandra’s thoughts shifted, so that she daydreamed less about acquiring money and skills (and thus freedom), and instead, she pondered ways that she could approach Leander.  It wasn’t as though she wished to impose upon him, but behind his anger seemed to lay an unspoken sadness.  His situation pulled at the empathic strings of her heart; she did not dare to think that they might ever be friends, but she did want to find a way to make him feel better.  The question was: how?  She had no wealth of her own, and everything that she had access to, he had access to as well.  But she also knew the palace better than he did, so surely, she could think of something.

 

In the end, she decided to settle on giving him small, anonymous gifts.  Leander gravitated towards a spot under a tree by one of the northern terraces of the palace.  The northern terrace lacked the spectacular view of the other terraces, and as such, it was rarely frequented.  Perhaps that was why Leander chose that particular spot as a place to reflect or read.

 

The gifts that Aristandra gave him were mere trifles.  Sometimes, it was favoured sweets from the kitchens.  Once, she plucked him a dusk-star flower, said to bring good fortune.  Another time, it was shining sunstone that she had found.  Whatever it was that she had chosen to gift to him, she left it in his spot on the terrace, and never stayed to see if received (or appreciated) the gesture.

 

Thus, it came as a complete surprise when Leander confronted her several weeks later as she sat by one of the courtyard fountains, watching the graceful turns of the colourful fish within.

 

 “Hey!  You,” a voice called out, breaking her meditative state.  She flinched in surprise, and looked up, her eyes widening as she saw the tawny-blond approaching.  When their eyes met, Leander seemed to freeze in place, blinking at her with a dazed bemusement.  It made Aristandra feel a squirming sort of discomfort.  Was there something on her face?  But Leander shook his head, snapping out of the daze.  His brows knit, and his amber eyes hardened.  His body language radiated hostility, and Aristandra felt an unsettling quiver in her stomach.

 

She felt she should say something - a formal greeting perhaps, but words seemed to have flown from her mind.  She was accustomed to unfriendliness and mistrust; still, it hurt to see Leander directing such emotions at her.  Aristandra had to remind herself that such a thing was to be expected.

 

 “You’re the one leaving those things in my spot, aren’t you,” he said, his words sounding more like an accusation than a question.

 

 “I - ah -” Aristandra wasn’t sure if she should be denying it, or admitting to it.  She felt her cheeks growing hot, flustered by the confrontation.  But in the end, she settled on the truth.  Unable to meet his eyes, she gazed towards the colonnades and said:  “Yes.”

 

Leander clenched his teeth, his eyes narrowing, and when Aristandra flicked her eyes back in his direction, she felt her heart starting to patter at a frantic pace.  It was near impossible to meet that condemning gaze.  It was one thing to observe Leander’s rage from afar, but it was another thing entirely to see it face to face.  She longed to back away, but if she did so, she would plunge straight into the fountain.

 

 “I asked about you, you know,” Leander continued.  Aristandra could hear the cold contempt in his tone.  “From the way you carry yourself, I thought you were just another one of the nobles.  But you’re not even that, are you.”

 

Leander sneered, his handsome face twisting into something harsh and dangerous.  “If you think you can curry my favour by leaving me old food and worthless baubles, you’re sadly mistaken.  I have no use for power-hungry opportunistic leeches in my life.  Just - stay away from me.”

 

With that, Leander gave her one final derisive glare, before stalking off.  When he was gone, Aristandra let out a long, ragged breath, aware that her palms were sweaty, and that her heart was still galloping.  How had Leander found out that she was the one leaving gifts?  Aristandra supposed that it didn’t matter - he hadn’t liked them anyway.

 

Instead of the resignation that she expected, she felt startlingly angry.  She was often kind to animals, but it had been a long time since she made a gesture of kindness to a human.  She was used to selfless acts - when one helped animals, it was unrealistic to expect anything in return.  She should have known that a human couldn’t even appreciate selflessness, even if it were to slap them in the face.  Aristandra had witnessed time and time again, the way people hurt each other, with their ulterior motives, manipulations, and betrayals - it was part of court life.  Leander may have seemed different from afar, but, really, he was just like the rest of them, seeing only ugliness in every human interaction.

 

Her indignation allowed her to maintain her composure.  Aristandra didn’t want to face the hurt that lay beneath her ire.  She had suffered enough pain in her young life, and had no desire to heap more sorrow onto her battered soul.  Rather, she forced herself to put Leander from her mind.  It was senseless to give him more attention than she gave to anyone else.  And really, her life would go on, just as it always did.  It was more important that she focus her efforts on freeing herself, than to waste energy on a callous boy.


	4. Chapter 4

In the months that followed, Leander seemed to surrender to his fate, and accept that he would be staying at Mahala Palace, whether he wanted to or not.  The shell of defencive antagonism around him was cracking, and he began to associate with the noble and royal youths that surrounded him.  In spite of Leander’s earlier enmity, those at court were all too willing to accept Leander back into their fold.  It was simply more advantageous to let bygones be bygones.  Perhaps Leander still held on to some of his earlier anger, but Aristandra refused to pay more attention to him than was necessary, and as such, his subtle emotional cues no longer caught her eye.

 

For Aristandra, nothing in her life appeared to change.  Perhaps her child-like cynicism about people had expanded in breadth, but she tried not to let it colour her perceptions.  She continued to observe both people and animals, feeling increasingly sure in her belief that some of those animals were erstwhile humans.  Yet, there was little that she could do to help the poor creatures.  Perhaps they somehow managed to escape the palace and survive on their own.  It was a nice thought to think that they might find freedom, even while she could not.

 

Perhaps if she had been been observing Leander with the same attention to small details as before, she would have noticed the covert glances that he sent her way.  But it wouldn’t have occurred to Aristandra that Leander would want to watch her, and she was back to observing animals and the machinations of adults.  Leander had friends now - or if not friends, then people who were pleased to be in his company, and Aristandra assumed that having companionship would absorb a person’s attention.  Of course, even if Aristandra knew that Leander was watching her, she likely wouldn’t have been pleased; not when the glances he gave her were so pensive, as though she were an enigma that he needed to puzzle out.

 

Leander also started to ask more questions about Aristandra.  This wouldn’t have pleased Aristandra either.  She might not have known precisely what others would have to say about her since no one said anything to her face, but she was aware, from the looks that people gave her, that they would not be saying anything positive.  And Aristandra would have been correct about that.  Leander’s new companions were all too happy to spill the sordid (and exaggerated) details of Prince Septimus’s rather ghastly and untimely demise.  This story was usually told so that Aristandra was either at fault, or that she contributed by being an ill omen.  There were other tales as well - silly things, such as someone claiming that they accidently brushed against her in the corridors and had bad luck for a week, or someone else saying that Aristandra had looked in their direction and cursed their food, making them ill.

 

But while Leander spent more time with the other youth, this did not mean that he felt close to them.  Life at Mahala Palace may have been more decadent than Leander was used to at home, but it was also more vicious beneath all the layers of pretty words and pretty manners.  Leander may not have observed people with the same degree of attentiveness as Aristandra, but he had an intuitive understanding of people, and strong instincts for who could be trusted, when he cared to listen to his gut feelings.  And when Leander’s perceptions were no longer distorted by his intense anger, he began to think that he had perhaps misjudged Aristandra.

 

He felt guilty about it of course.  He was a prince, and had been raised with strong values, including the importance of giving people a fair chance, and not judging them based on initial impressions.  Not that his initial impression of Aristandra had been negative - in fact, he may have been rather dazed by soulfulness of her large dark eyes, and onyx black hair, feeling for a moment as though the breath had been stolen from his lungs.  But he preferred not to think of that.  He may have misjudged her, but that didn’t mean that she was necessarily a good person (even if a corner of his mind reminded him that she had shown him kindness without actually expecting anything in return.)

 

Leander’s sense of honour demanded that he give her an apology.  While there were many, including the emperor and his kin, that seemed to believe that they could do no wrong (and would never openly admit to their mistakes), Leander was raised to believe otherwise.  For Leander, it was important to recognize the errors of one’s way.  In doing so, one could rise above their own mistakes, and fix them.

 

Not one to dither when it came to facing a problem, Leander was determined to confront Aristandra once he realized his own fault.  Having had months to look at the situation from multiple angles, he knew that she had committed no wrong.  Guilt was an intolerable weight upon his conscience, making him dislike himself nearly as much as he disliked his circumstances.  But he harboured no thoughts of befriending Aristandra.  While he may have tolerated the presence of the nobles and other royals, Leander did not want to form any true attachments.  He didn’t want anything that would pin him down to the empire, to Mahala Palace, to any of the people.  He didn’t want to _belong_ here.

 

And so, fixed upon what he perceived to be the correct course of actions, Leander brushed off the group of nobles that seemed to cling to him like slimy, unwanted seagrass, and searched the corridors and courtyards, hoping to catch sight of the obsidian sheen of Aristandra’s long dark hair.

 

Leander came upon her in one of the castle’s courtyards.  Unlike last time, she was not sitting at the edge of a fountain, but instead, was trying to coax a timid cat from under a stone bench.  He should have called out, but he hesitated and instead, watched her for a moment.  The other times he had seen her, she radiated a guarded iciness that didn’t invite any closeness.  At first glance, it would have been easy to believe that she deliberately chose to keep others at bay.  It was interesting then, to see Aristandra’s relaxed pose, and hear the soothing murmurs as she attempted to gain the cat’s confidence.

 

Aristandra’s coaxing appeared to work.  The lanky, beige coloured creature crept forward, its pink nose sniffing at her fingers.  Aristandra kept as still as a statue aside from the small smile that tugged at her lips.  Leander did not think he had ever seen her actually smile before.  The sight of it made him feel a bit strange - an odd mix of yearning but also sadness.  But the feelings confused him, and he didn’t like it.  For a moment, a part of him wanted to get to know Aristandra better, but he had already determined that while he would accept people around him, he would form no attachments.

 

Aristandra still seemed oblivious to his presence at the archway of the courtyard.  The cat had relaxed enough that it was now nudging its forehead against Aristandra’s fingers, submitting to her gentle scratches.  Leander wondered if he should just leave and return later, but then Aristandra happened to look his way.  Her eyes widened in surprise, but her expression quickly became shuttered and blank.  She stood up with a fluid grace, but did not meet his eyes, staring down at the spot where the cat had been.  The cat, startled by her movements, had scurried off.  Leander experienced a moment of disappointment that Aristandra did not maintain eye contact.  It was disorienting, having those dark eyes directed at him, but there was something else there as well.  It was like a challenge of sorts, and Leander, with his bold nature, had always been drawn to challenges.

 

He cleared his throat.  “Hello - ah -” it occurred to him that he didn’t know her name.  Everyone he had asked just referred to her as ‘the Seer’ or ‘the Oracle.’  Should he have just called her by that title?  

 

 “Good day, Prince Leander,” Aristandra responded blandly with a polite dip, her eyes downcast.

 

The formality of her gesture was like an uncomfortable itch across his skin.  Court life had been so much more relaxed in Daelyn.  She hadn’t been this formal last time, had she?  But then again, he spent their last encounter accusing her of trying to use him.  

 

 “Please,” he insisted, “there’s no need to stand on ceremony.  Leander is fine.”

 

She looked up at him, startled by the gesture, and as their eyes met, Leander felt a strange jolt, as though her dark gaze had just stopped the beat of his heart.  A feeling of uncertainty made his limbs feel strangely disconnected and his mind muddled.  He thought back to those court gossips, claiming that she was an ill-omen, or that she was somehow cursed.  Had those foolish gossips been right?

 

It was difficult to think clearly.  He was only here to do one thing, and that was to apologize.  It was doubtful that the dark-haired girl before him would curse him for an apology.

 

 “I would like to formally apologize for my previous behaviour,” Leander intoned, forcing the words out.  “I shouldn’t have behaved as I did.  I was taught to collect all the evidence and facts before making judgements, and I failed to do when I last spoke to you.”

 

Aristandra blinked.  Of all things, this was not what she had expected.  Her last interaction with him had been months ago, and she was surprised that he even remembered the event, let alone, was bothering to apologize for it.

 

She had no idea of how to reply to him.  Was an apology supposed to be formally accepted?  The royals never apologized, and the nobles never apologized to those beneath them.  Nothing in her life had prepared her for a situation like this.  And so, Aristandra simply nodded.

 

 “You accept my apology?” Leander asked, his voice grave.

 

Aristandra nodded again.  “Yes - ah - Prince Leander.”

 

  “Ah.  I’m glad.  Well, good day then -” he trailed off when he realized he still didn’t know what to call her, “- Lady seer.”

 

Aristandra flinched but she did not correct him.  It wouldn’t be her place after all.  With a final stiff nod, Leander turned around and left the courtyard, his bearing as graceful and proud as ever, despite his humble words.  Aristandra remained in place, dazed by the bizarre turn of events.  She had long ago assumed that Leander was no different from the other nobles and royals.  Perhaps she was wrong after all.  And yet, this did not mean that anything had changed.  Leander was still a prince.  And Aristandra was just a caged tool of the emperor.

 

Leander’s apology weighed upon Aristandra’s mind in the following days, but her life continued on in the same monotonous pattern as ever.  It wasn’t long before she no longer gave the matter any thought.  It was just an odd, anomalous occurrence - one of those little accidents of life that were due solely to chance.  Aristandra saw no reason to give any weight to the whole matter.  Her time would be better spent on her education than on dissecting every detail of the unexpected apology.

 

But something within Aristandra had changed, whether she wished it or not.  She might not have expected any sort of friendship with Leander, or anyone else for that matter.  But realizing that Leander was a decent person, even beneath his prickly anger and pride, made her feel the need for some sort of connection with someone or something.  Aristandra thought back to the animals she had encountered that had exhibited oddly human characteristics.  Perhaps it was time to once again try and befriend one or more of these creatures.  She would just have to make a greater effort to keep them somewhere safe, where the castle servants wouldn’t find them.  The thought made Aristandra feel more hopeful that she had felt in a long while.

 

So, in the next few weeks, when Aristandra wasn’t occupied with her lessons, or dealing with the ill-tempered mage, she spent her time exploring parts of the castle that she had never given much thought to before.  She ventured into the kitchens, but it was so noisy and chaotic that she quickly departed.  She sought out every nook and cranny of the cellars, but in a place as well run as Mahala Palace, the cellars were well organized and there were no truly hidden corners that could be considered safe.  She checked the various unused guest rooms, but guest rooms were rarely uninhabited for long, and either way, the servants always kept them spotless.  She even considered going down to the dungeons, but the idea was so unsettling that she decided against it in the end.

 

Aristandra was exploring the upper floor of the palace, when a fluttering flash of colour caught her eye.  It was a small yellow and lilac coloured bird, which had perched upon the window sill of an alcove window and was now watching her with its bright black eyes.  A sad smile tugged at Aristandra’s lips.  Birds always made her wish for wings.  The bird hopped a couple of time, before lifting off and flitting away.  Aristandra found herself pulled towards the alcove window, and as she looked outside, she noticed a wide ledge beneath the window.  It appeared to form the top of a supportive arch that extended the length of the wall.

 

Though it was dangerous, the ledge intrigued Aristandra.  This particular window didn’t really offer a view - rather, its purpose seemed to be a source of light and airiness more than anything.  This meant that if she were to climb out on the ledge, it was highly unlikely that she would be seen.  Her sense of excitement rising, Aristandra checked the corridors to assure that no one was nearby.  She then climbed over the sill of the window and carefully lowered herself onto the ledge.

 

Aristandra felt a brief moment of vertigo, when she realized how high up she was from the ground.  If she were to slip and fall, it would be certain death.  She turned her head to focus on the outer wall of the palace, and the vertigo soon passed.  She inhaled deeply, not wanting to give way to fear or panic, and turned away from the wall to examine her surroundings.  The ledge itself felt almost like an alcove and was no more than five paces in length.  It was boxed in by extended walls on either side.  

 

Aristandra guessed that one side was likely part of a set of chambers, but the other side was close to one of the corners of the palace, so that side would likely be decorative stonework.  Taking a few tentative steps, she walked along the ledge, and tucked herself into the corner.  The stone was cool and hard, and covered in a layer of grime, suggesting that no servants came out here to clean it.  It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it was peaceful.  Would any creature be willing to live here?  Aristandra felt that she had to find a way to make it work.

 

It was only a few days later when Aristandra came across an oddly behaving rat.  Rats did not tend to last very long at the palace.  Being larger than mice, they attracted more negative attention, and anytime one was spotted, the servants usually tried to kill them immediately.  And with the numerous cats that roamed the palace, it was difficult for any mice or rats to survive for long.  The rat was in one of the courtyards, partially hidden amidst the decorative shrubs.  Rather than sniffing the air or foraging for food, the rat seemed to be examining its own body.  It was not grooming itself.  It was attempting to look at its little pink hands and feet, and grabbing its tail, as if saying ‘ _what kind of utter madness is this?_ ’

 

Aristandra could not help feeling sympathetic for the little creature.  She usually tried to suppress such feelings - it hurt too much, knowing that the survival rate for rodents was so low, and yet, she couldn’t fully wall up her heart.

 

She knew better than to call out something like: ‘hello, rat’ or ‘hello, mouse.’  If these creatures were, indeed, humans in rodent bodies, they would not respond to such a call.  Instead, she simply said a soft: “Hello, there.  Don’t be frightened.  I won’t hurt you.”

 

The rat was still holding onto its tail, but now it was looking up at her, its nose twitching nervously.  The creature acted unsure of whether or not it ought to run away.  It peered towards the nearest archway, but to a rat, the distance probably looked huge, compared to the perspective of a human.

 

 “Have you been here long?” Aristandra continued speaking, her voice soft and soothing.  She knew the rat couldn’t answer, but she always felt that if she were a human in an animal’s body, that she would appreciate normal sounding conversation.

 

 “I haven’t seen you here before.  You have a lovely, glossy ginger coloured coat.  Or I suppose I should say hair?  It’s not a very common colour for humans or other - ah - creatures, like yourself.  It’s a beautiful colour though.”

 

The rat was looking at its tail again, and Aristandra felt a sharp twist in her heart when the rat seemed to realize that its fate was real and not a dream.  Its head seemed to fall, while its rounded ears flattened pitifully.

 

 “I’m sorry,” she murmured, even though she wasn’t the one at fault.  She was simply sorry for its suffering.  “I’d change you back if I could.  I don’t - well - I think only the mage has the magic to do that.  And if you’ve met him, you’d know that he’s not the kindest of souls.”

 

The rat began to tremble.  Was it out of fear?  Or anger?

 

Aristandra winced, her feelings of sympathy increasing.  “I didn’t mean to upset you.  He upsets me too.  I can’t tell if he simply has no idea how to interact with people, or if he has made it his mission in life to make other people miserable.”

 

The rat nodded at her latter comment, and a smile quirked at Aristandra’s lips.

 

 “You think it’s the latter?  I agree.  I shouldn’t keep speaking with you here though.  It isn’t safe.  Will you come with me?”  Aristandra held out her hands towards the ginger rat.  She was aware of a tightness in her chest.  Would the rat reject her?  It would hurt, but she would accept it.  She had no choice in the end.

 

The rat tilted its head to the side, as though considering her request.  It peered towards the archway leading out of the courtyard, and the pressure in Aristandra’s chest increased as she pulled her hand away.  But then, the rat seemed to make up it’s mind and it dashed towards her.  A wide grin broke across Aristandra’s face.  She knew she shouldn’t get attached.  She knew she shouldn’t get her hopes up.  And yet, she felt ridiculously glad to have the companionship of this little creature, even if it might only be for a short while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote almost this entire chapter - I don't know how how I feel about it. I keep changing my direction


	5. Chapter 5

Leander stood in one of the larger courtyards of Mahala Palace, his arms crossed as he leaned his weight against one of the colonnades.  Around him were a group of nobles and some of the younger princes and princesses.  The royals were seated regally at the stone benches, while the nobles mostly hoovered around, like ravenous horse-flies circling a cow’s backside.  An ash-blonde girl kept sidling up to him, giving him coy glances and trying to draw him into the conversation.  A weedy boy was telling some sort of inane anecdote, and looking at Leander every so often, as though needing a sign of Leander’s permission to even speak.  

 

Leander was starting to wonder why he even tolerated it.  Being completely isolated was a miserable experience.  And being isolated in enemy territory only amplified that misery.  But letting himself be surrounded by people that he didn’t like nor respect felt a little like lobotomizing himself with a rusted fork.  Although he had a feeling that lobotomizing himself would be a bit more rewarding. 

 

Leander didn’t know what to do.  He had been here at Mahala Palace for almost a year, and though he was no longer a mass of pure, lashing rage, his frustration and anger still remained.  Back in his home in Daelyn, his family used to jest that Leander’s heart was like a flame.  He was warm to those he loved, but when he was angered, that fierce and merciless heat would grow and envelop him, and those around him, scorching and cruel.  But trapped as he was at Mahala Palace, there was nowhere that his fury could go.  The flames within him could hurt only himself.  Though he knew this, it didn't stop Leander from having days in which he descended back into that roiling state of anger.  Mahala Palace brought out the worst in him.

 

Leander’s powerlessness was largely due to factors that were far beyond his grasp.  Most of it was due to the politics between the empire and the principality of Daelyn.  The relationship between the empire and Daelyn had always been contentious.  Raids and skirmishes were common occurrences, and life on the border between the two regions was difficult and rough.  It was during one of these skirmishes that Leander had been captured.  Around that time, the emperor had made a treaty with Leander’s father; unfortunately for Daelyn, the treaty was disadvantageous.  But Daelyn had been suffering economic difficulties due to several years of bad crops, and the emperor was ruthless enough to take advantage of their situation.

 

Part of the treaty required that Leander remain as a ‘guest’ at Mahala Palace - though everyone knew that ‘guest’ was just a polite way of saying ‘hostage.’  The emperor knew that so long as Leander remained in Mahalan, Daelyn would have to maintain their end of the treaty.  Though Leander’s father had attempted to renegotiate the treaty, he had not been successful.

 

In the early days of his capture, Leander often thought about running away.  He took note of every exit of the palace.  He eyed the weapons of the guards, and paid attention to their rounds and shifts.  He even made use of the library to check maps of the region.  But the fact that his escape could result in outright war stayed his hand.  Worse yet, the mage had forced him to drink a rather foul brew to prevent him from running away.  The mage had never explained what the brew did.  The man had simply given Leander a rather sadistically gleeful look, as though silently daring him to try and run.  It had been a terrible blow to Leander’s pride.

 

The truth was that despite his fiery temperament, Leander was an honourable soul.  Even without the brew, he never would have run away in the end - not when it would have hurt his own nation.  Having to drink the mage’s brew was humiliating, and he resented being forced to consume it, as though he were some sort of common miscreant.  For that alone, he could never forgive the emperor for this fate.  But either way, he was effectively trapped.

 

Leander had thought that permitting himself to associate with the other royals and nobles would make his imprisonment a bit easier to bear.  He knew that court life here in Mahala Palace was nothing like court life in Daelyn, and yet, he was still generous-natured enough to give the inhabitants here a chance.  Somehow, it was far worse than he could have even imagined.  There were many nobles and courtiers in Daelyn who could be just as unctuous and insincere as the people here in Mahalan.  And yet, there were many others who were genuine, and kind and likable.  Or if not any of those traits, there were at least people in Daelyn who had a decent sense of humour.  The residents of Mahala Palace were so fearful of offending anyone important that their jokes were either hopelessly flat, or incredibly debasing towards the lower classes.

 

He sighed as yet another noble made some comments about the unfortunate habits of some hapless 'city folk’ that caused the crowd around him to titter nastily.  It took a great deal of effort for Leander to not cringe, and he wondered why he even bothered to hide his disdain for this utterly depthless and meaningless lifestyle.

 

 “Isn't that just so true?” The ash-blonde asked him in a simpering voice.  “The people in the city just can’t be expected to know the difference between a waterfall style waist-sash and a geometric style waist-sash.  The two styles can't possibly be any more different, don't you think, Prince Leander?”

 

Leander narrowed his amber eyes at her before shrugging indifferently.  “I don't know the difference between the - what was it you said?  Waterfall style and the geometric style waist-sash.  I've yet to fathom why such knowledge is even relevant.”

 

One of the princesses - Octavia, he thought - smirked.  At least be thought that tiny upturn of her lips was a smirk - the royals clung on to their masks as though the world would cease turning if they showed too much emotion.  “I wouldn't expect a boy from a tiny little principality like Daelyn to know the first thing about fashion.  Don't you all just go around wearing burlap sacks there?”

 

The nobles gave a nervous titter, unsure of how to react when a barb was aimed at a royal.  Did they laugh and risk offending him, or not laugh and risk offending Princess Octavia?  If Leander had had a cruel and scheming nature, it might have amused him to toy around with the sycophantic nobles.  As it was, Leander thought it was all rather pathetic.  If someone thought the comment was genuinely amusing, they ought to just laugh.  The ingratiation was somehow far worse than being the butt of a few malicious jokes.  

 

Leander sighed with irritation.  “Yes, dear Octavia.  Burlap sacks are the very height of fashion in Daelyn.”

 

 “Is that so,” murmured the weedy boy consideringly. “Fascinating.”

 

Unable to help himself, Leander groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.  Having to interact with these people on any sort of serious basis was as rewarding as having an intellectual debate with a toenail clipping. He was so very, very tired of it.  Better to leave before his temper worsened.

 

 “I’ve developed a bit of a headache,” Leander informed the group stiffly.  “Please excuse me.”

 

 “I can take you to the healer!” the clingy ash-blonde volunteered brightly, oblivious to any of Leander’s subtle signals to rebuff her.

 

Leander pulled away from her tentacle-like hands.  “Ah - thank you, but no.”  And with that, he quickly strode out of the courtyard, and climbed up the stairs until he reached his private chambers on the upper floor.  Usually, he would bring books up here from the library, and spend time in the privacy of his sitting rooms.  But since he hadn’t bothered to stop by the library, and he did actually have a mild headache, he entered his bedroom instead and threw himself onto his large, luxurious bed, trying to sooth the beast that was his simmering anger.

 

He was staring up at the embroidery that decorated the fabric canopy of his bed.  It was crimson red in colour, and covered in vine-like patterns that bloomed in a profusion of flowers.  All throughout it were accents of gold and silver thread.  Leander had a feeling that it was worth a small fortune.  Daelyn may have been a relatively rich region, but they had nothing quite as extravagant, and seemingly senseless as one-of-a-kind work-of-art bed canopies.

 

Leander’s thoughts were interrupted by a soft sound outside his window.  It sounded almost like voices.  Bird, perhaps?  It was a testament to his boredom that he stood up and made his way to the window, leaning outwards to see what could have made the sound.  There really wasn’t any view to speak of from this particular window.  Perhaps an animal had gotten trapped somewhere.

 

 “I’ll bring another sheet later, and something to weigh it down with so the wind doesn’t make off with it,” a soft, feminine voice spoke.  Leander furrowed his brow, and leaned further out the window.  On one side, he could almost see the length of the whole wall, but the other side, where the voice came from, ended in a sharp corner.  The corner blocked his view from whoever was speaking, and he could not guess who it was.  The voice was almost familiar, but there were so many people in the palace that it meant almost nothing.  A feeling of bitterness filled him.  Even here in his chambers, he could get not peace and privacy.  Yet, he remained at the window to listen.

 

  “And please, please, please try to get along.  You’re bigger than the others, Russus.  He’s just a little - well - mouse.  And as a  - rather - ah - strapping rat, you’re much larger and you can do much more harm.  It’s not like there isn’t enough space here for both of you.  And if you’re worried you won’t get enough of your favourite treats, I can always bring more.”

 

Leander scowled.  It sounded like a girl - he couldn’t guess her age from her voice but she didn’t sound much older than him - and it seemed as though she were talking to her pet rodents.  What kind of person kept rats or mice as pets?  Especially in a castle full of cats, and even a few dogs.  He had a vivid mental image in his mind of some waifish, dirty girl, with bad teeth and a worse smell, wearing stained and badly mended clothes.  Admittedly, he had never actually seen anybody in the palace that looked like that - not even the meanest of servants.  But he really couldn’t imagine who else might deliberately choose to befriend a possibly diseased and vicious creature.

 

 “No Russus!” the girlish voice exclaimed.  “Stop that!  I won’t tolerate you biting him!  If you don’t stop, I won’t bring you any of those pastries you like so much - and don’t think I’ll fall for that doe-eyed look!”

 

Leander’s tawny eyebrows wrinkled in an expression of incredulity.  Could this really be happening?  Was there someone in the palace that was actually keeping a rat - a violent rat from the sounds of it - only a few meters away from his own chambers?  

 

Before Leander could think about what he was doing, he had already opened his mouth to speak.  “Please tell me you aren’t really keeping a rat over there.”  He was irritable and bewildered enough that he didn’t even mask the withering tone of his voice.

 

There was no answer from the girl.  Leander’s eye’s narrowed and he thought: ‘ _ Good.  At least that finally silenced her _ .’

 

But then he heard a questioning murmur before the girl called out: “Is someone there?  Who - who are you?”

 

 “Are you in the habit of hearing voices that aren’t there?” he asked, letting contempt that came so easily these days, colour his voice.  “As for who I am, it isn’t any of your business.”

 

There was a moment of silence again.  And then: “You’re the one who cut into  _ my _ conversation.”

 

Leander arched his eyebrow.  “Your conversation.”  His voice was flat.  “You were having a conversation with  _ a rat _ .”

 

 “So?”

 

 “So - you were talking to a rat!”

 

 “What of it?” the girl retorted.  “He’s much more pleasant to speak to than you, bites and all.”

 

Leander was taken aback.  He was so accustomed to being surrounded by flatterers and sycophants (aside from the other royals) that he almost didn’t know what to make of the insult.  But then he remembered that the girl didn’t know who she was talking to.  His lips curled into a sardonic smile.  If she ever found out who he was, she’d probably fall to her knees to beg his forgiveness.  As exasperating as he found the fawning nobles and servants, it would be satisfying to see this maddening girl realize her mistake and plead for his mercy.  Some distant part of Leander’s mind thought: ‘ _ I really shouldn’t continue this conversation in this mood _ ’ but he ignored the voice.

 

 “Is he now?” Leander drawled.  “Then what does it say about  _ you _ , that you’d feel the need to converse with rats in the first place.  At least  _ I _ talk to actual human beings.”

 

The girl scoffed.  “You say that as though it’s something to be proud of.  Why don’t you get back to me when you meet company in Mahala Palace that’s actually  _ decent _ .”  

 

Leander blinked.  The girl had a good point.  Unfortunately, this only served to make him more annoyed, reminding him of how much he hated it here in Mahala Palace.  “At least people  _ want _ to speak to me,” he said, rather pettily.

 

 “ _ Really _ ?” The girl’s voice was laced with sarcasm.  “If your social skills now are any example, I have a hard time believing it.  You seem to have a rather inflated perspective of your conversational abilities.  I’d be more than happy if you went away and left me alone.”

 

 “ _ I _ should leave  _ you _ alone?” Leander couldn’t contain his disbelief at the girl’s audacity.  “You’re the one disrupting my peace by having a conversation outside my bedroom window.  If anything  _ you _ should be the one leaving  _ me _ alone.”

 

 “I’ve been in this spot for nearly two months now.  Why should  _ I _ leave?  Besides, what kind of person spends the middle of the day in his bedchambers?”

 

Leander felt a flush of heat in his face, and he narrowed his eyes.  “I came here to get away from the aggravating residents of this wretched palace.  And unless I’m wrong, I believe that includes you.”

 

 “Oh?  You consider the people here aggravating now?  And just a few moments ago, you were  _ so proud _ of the fact that they were willing to speak to you.  Besides, this place is  _ my _ sanctuary.  It wasn’t  _ me _ who interrupted  _ your  _ conversation in the first place.”

 

 “It was you who interrupted my peace and quiet!” Leander snapped.

 

 “Well if you want peace and quiet, then why don’t you just stop talking to me, and let me have my conversation in peace.  I’ll even speak quietly, just to soothe your  _ delicate little nerves _ .”

 

 “Fine!” Leander bit out angrily.  

 

He spun away from the window, and threw himself on the bed, his arms crossed and his expression mulish.  It wasn’t long before Leander was fidgeting with restless boredom.  He really should have brought a book.

 

He stared at the canopy above his head for what felt like an eternity.  Out of some perverse and inexplicable sense of curiosity, he stood up, stretched, and returned to the window, leaning outwards.  Perhaps the girl had already left.  But after a minute, he heard the murmur of her voice, soft enough so that he couldn’t make out her words.

 

 “Seriously, what kind of person speaks to a rat?”  The words left Leander’s lips before he could stop them.  What was wrong with himself?  Was he so direly bored that he was willing to engage in a conversation that made him want to rip out his hair, rather than actually enjoying the gentle and quiet serenity?  Not that he felt anywhere close to serene at any point in this day.

 

 “What is your problem with me?” the girl questioned, testily.

 

 “Well, it isn’t exactly easy to relax knowing that there’s a vicious rat a few meters from my head.”  Leander winced, knowing that he was being ridiculously petty.  He was glad that the girl couldn’t see his expression.

 

 “Oh, are you scared of the mean ‘lil rat?  Well don’t worry your pretty little head over it.  I can protect you from this tiny, vicious creature with his bitty paws, and tiny teeth -” Her voice lowered, and he could barely hear her say: “- Ah sorry Russus but your paws and teeth  _ are _ really small.”  The volume of her voice increased as she called out:  “You may want to lie down in case this is all too much for your fragile sensibilities and you feel the need to faint.”

 

 “How thoughtful of you.  Did you happen to learn your sense of propriety from rodents?”

 

The girl made a sound of frustration.  “Why are you so angry anyway?  This can't all be about me talking to a rat can it? Are you really just that miserable?”

 

 “Yes!” Leander exclaimed.  “I am.  Why wouldn't I be when I'm stuck in what is quite possibly the most loathsome city on this side of the world, surrounded by people who seem to make it a point to only care about the most trivial things imaginable, and are all collectively both obsequious enough and self-satisfied enough to happily wallow in their own pomposity together.”

 

There was a moment of silence, and Leander wondered if he had offended the girl.  He didn’t particularly care if he had.  It felt almost good to speak his mind to some faceless stranger.  

 

Finally the girl spoke.  “It  _ is _ loathsome here, isn’t it?  Is it strange to admit that for the longest time, I’ve wondered if I was the only one to think so?”

 

Leander started, not expecting the admission.  A sardonic smile crossed his lips.  “Is that why you’ve been reduced to keeping rats for company?”

 

The girl hummed.  “One of the reasons.”

 

 “What are the other reasons?” The question came out automatically, and yet Leander was surprised to realize that he was genuinely interested to know.

 

There was another stretch of silence, and Leander wondered if the girl would even answer.  Perhaps her reasons were personal, or embarrassing.  Perhaps she was as hideous as he had initially imagined when he tried to picture the sort of person that befriended rats.

 

 “People fear me,” the girl eventually admitted. “I think they blame me for something that happened a long time ago.”

 

Leander was intrigued.  “Is it because of how you look?” He knew the question bordered outright rudeness, but she was still a faceless stranger.  Why wouldn't he sate his curiosity while he had the chance?

 

 “Ah - no?  At least I don't think so.  But no one has ever commented on my looks before so I'm not certain.”

 

 “Why do they fear you then?”

 

 “If I tell you, you'd probably stop speaking to me.”

 

Leander frowned.  “Wait.  Are you implying that you've been enjoying this exchange?”

 

The girl laughed weakly.  “Not at first.  I get enough of being insulted by the mage.  But this - I don't mind this?  I suppose?  I thought I was the only one who hated Mahala Palace.  I imagine there are others who are unhappy here - some of the servants perhaps - but they can still leave if they wish.  It's just - interesting?  To speak to someone who might understand.”

 

 “The mage insults you?  You're a cleric then.”

 

There was a pause.  “Well - no.  I'm not a cleric.  I'd prefer if you didn't know.  As I said, you'd stop speaking to me if you knew.”

 

 “What makes you think we'll ever speak again after this?”

 

The girl hummed before sighing.  “You're right.  I was presuming.  Even so, I'd much rather you didn't know.”

 

Leander’s expression turned stubborn.  “Tell me.”

 

 “Hmm.  No.”

 

Leander frowned.  That command was much more effective when people knew who he was.  “Just tell me.”

 

 “What a compelling and original argument,” the girl responded dryly.  “I bow before the eloquence of your moving rhetoric.”

 

Leander smirked.  “Well, not all of it is my emotionally stirring powers of oration.  Some of it is just natural charm.”

 

 “Best you stop now before I swoon.  You'll never get your answer that way.  I'm guessing by the inflated opinion of your own charm, and the manner of your speech that you are a noble?”

 

Leander considered how he would answer.  As a royal, technically he was noble, but he could really answer either way.  But it would be easier to mask his identity if he claimed to be a noble.  Or he could sidestep the question altogether.

 

 “Inflated opinion of my own charm?  And here I was thinking that the people of Mahala Palace just enjoy being insulted to their faces.”

 

 “- do you really insult people to their faces?” The girl queried, her voice incredulous.  “You must be either - ah - really rich or really handsome.”

 

 “So not only am I not actually charming, but people only value me for my aurum, and my sculpted face?  You're not going to be satisfied until I have no self-worth left, are you?  I thought I had a cruel tongue but I think I ought to hand over the blades and whips of verbal flagellation over to you.”

 

 “I wasn't trying to be cruel,” the girl protested.

 

 “So you just manage it effortlessly?  Ah - How crushing.  My self-worth has been fully annihilated.  I think I can feel the remaining scraps of it sliding out of my body to go and live a softer, kinder life and a chest full of rusted blades.”

 

The girl giggled.  “I’m really not trying to be cruel.  I was just making an observation.  Most nobles would be happy to be thought of as attractive and rich.”

 

 “You don’t find me to be like most nobles, hm?  I believe that those are the kindest words you’ve uttered in this entire exchange.”

 

 “Who are you, anyway?”

 

 “A sad and broken noble with no charm, lots of aurum and a handsome face?  You haven’t exactly told me who  _ you _ are.”

 

 “Hmm.” The girl sighed.  “Fine.  Then keep your secrets and I’ll keep mine.”

 

Leander shrugged (even though the girl wouldn’t be able to see it.)  “I’m fairly certain that you won’t be able to live up to my expectations, regardless.  I’m picturing - hm - what would a rat-girl look like?  Ah - perhaps you’d be one of the mage’s experiments, gone wrong.  You’d be a wretched creature, with a twitchy nose, an excessive amount of body hair, and uncontrollable cravings for rubbish.  You’d live a hole in the wall, and when people see you, they snatch their children away in fear, lest your start nibbling on their toes.”

 

The girl giggled again.  “You’re right - I don’t think I’ll be able to live up to those expectations.”

 

Leander smirked.  “If it makes you feel any better, you’re much more entertaining to speak to than most other people here.”

 

 “I - hmm -” The girl sounded almost wistful or sad.  “I suppose that isn’t saying much.  But thank you, anyway.”

 

Leander’s brows drew together.  He had meant it light-heartedly.  Did his words really mean that much to the mysterious girl?  Though he didn’t want to form any attachments, that didn’t mean that he needed to be needlessly unkind.  Whoever this girl was, she wasn’t a noble - her speech might have been refined, but her words suggested an outsider.  She might not be a cleric - perhaps she was just an acolyte?

 

 “I suppose I could thank you as well.  You’ve managed to make my afternoon almost tolerable.  For that, I guess I could permit you and your rodent companions to stay.”

 

The girl’s voice became wry.  “How nice to have your permission.  I didn’t realize I needed it.  Ow! Russus, that hurt!” (This was spoken in a hiss.)  “Ah - I have to go fetch some food now.  Rats can be surprisingly demanding taskmasters.  It’s - well - I enjoyed speaking to you, whoever you are.”

 

Leander’s lips quirked upwards.  “The job of a rat-girl never ends.  So long.”

 

 “So long -” the girl called out, “- Sir Charmless.”

 

As he listened to the rustling of the girl’s departure, Leander couldn’t help the amused grin that spread across his face.


	6. Chapter 6

In the following days, Aristandra found herself thinking about the exchange that she had had with the mysterious boy when she was on the ledge.  Initially, she had found him incredibly rude and aggravating.  It had taken her so long to find that small sanctuary in the palace, and for a moment, she was afraid that the boy’s presence would ruin it, and she would never have a moment’s peace.  But, as she spoke to him, she was surprised to hear him confess that he loathed Mahalan and disliked its people.  It was easy, when she saw the way that other people interacted, to believe that everyone else was somehow happier and freer than she was.  Speaking to the boy was like a revelation: she wasn’t entirely alone.

 

Aristandra couldn’t deny that some part of her hoped to speak to him again.  She appreciated the companionship of the ginger rat Russus and the mouse which was called Felix.  However, despite the fact that Russus and Felix had many human-like qualities, and were clearly much more intelligent than ordinary rodents, it wasn’t the same as having someone she could actually  _ speak _ to.  

 

Russus and Felix could be fairly expressive in their own ways.  The more time that she spent with them, the more she was convinced that they had to be human after all.  In some ways, this was a good thing.  If she asked either of them a question, they could nod or shake their head, and make their opinions known.  It made her feel like her words were being heard by  _ someone _ and that she was more than just a frightening shadow for others to ignore and avoid.  

 

And yet, there were drawbacks as well.  There were often times when she felt that Russus and Felix tolerated her, mostly because they had no choice.  Felix had a tendency to either mope around or nap, rather than socialize.  As for Russus, the more she got to know him, the more she couldn’t help thinking that he was rather manipulative.  He fought with the other mice and rats that she found, so that the vast majority of them ended up running away rather than living on the ledge with Russus.  He hoarded the softest spot on the bedding, stole the best treats for himself, and wasn’t above using his teeth and claws to threaten other creatures (or even Aristandra.)   Aristandra had the feeling that Russus only suffered Felix’s presence because the little mouse was so passive and unobtrusive.  

 

There were moments when she wondered if was really even worth having the companionship of Russus and Felix.  It created a different kind of loneliness within her - the sort of loneliness where she had the presence of others, but not connection.  But then, as if sensing her melancholy thoughts, Russus would do something amusing, or he would choose to be more affectionate than usual, and the dark gloom of Aristandra’s thoughts would lighten.  It might have been just another aspect of Russus’ manipulative nature, but it still eased her out of her more desolate moods, and she would feel grateful for her rodent companions once again.

 

After speaking to the boy, Aristandra felt embarrassingly eager to spend more time on the alcove ledge.  But after a week passed, with no word from the boy, she started to accept that it was probably a one-time occurrence.  He was a noble, and as he had pointed out, there were many people who actually  _ wanted _ to speak to him.  There was no reason for him to return to his room, just to converse with her.  It was disappointing, but after all her years at Mahala Palace, she had learned to maintain a realistic (or even pessimistic) mindset.

 

Nearly two weeks after Aristandra’s conversation with the boy, she was sitting cross-legged on the ledge, reading a book out loud to Russus and Felix.  The material was academic - most of the texts that Aristandra read were about natural studies, or languages or history.  She still hadn’t given up on her dream of freedom after all, and when she learned that one could earn an income as a private tutor, she became more committed to her education than ever.  She might not have known what the life of a tutor entailed, but it was an option and opportunity, whereas before, she felt she had none.

 

 “And of the Alvic people of the north,” Aristandra recited,  “their government is that of a dual sovereignty, with a leadership position that symbolically represents the light aspects and another leadership position that represents the dark.  The positions of power are lifelong and are earned in a grueling test that spans the cycle of nearly two seasons.”

 

 “Your rats are interested in the political studies?” a familiar voice called out, sounding incredulous.  “I’ve underestimated the merit of rodent companionship.”

 

Aristandra looked up from the text, feeling a sudden burst of wild fluttering within her chest.  Russus poked up his head and yawned, while Felix attempted to edge away from the rat and find a safer spot to nap.

 

 “Interested isn’t the word I’d choose,” Aristandra admitted, as she eyed the drooping eyelids of the rodents.

 

 “Ah - so you’re  _ that  _ sort.  Is that why people are afraid of you, Rat-girl?”

 

Aristandra furrowed her brow, trying to make sense the boy’s words.  And was he  _ really _ going to keep calling her Rat-girl?  “What do you mean?”

 

 “I mean, instead of talking to others about things they might find interesting, you inflict dry intellectual ideas upon them,” the boy clarified. “And so, whenever they see you, they run away, in case their mind’s start flailing about in a panic lest any useful information sneaks its way in, causing them to realize how useless their lives are.”

 

 “I -” she looked down at the tome.  “This isn’t dry.  And you haven’t ever spoken to a cleric in your life, have you?”

 

The boy made a humming sound.  “Ah, so you  _ are _ that sort after all.”

 

Aristandra jutted her chin out stubbornly.  Apparently, two weeks was enough time to forget how potentially obnoxious this boy could be.  “I’m not  _ any _ sort.  That isn’t why people are afraid of me anyway.”

 

 “No?  Hex it.  And here, I thought I had you all figured out.”

 

Aristandra rolled her eyes.  “Now I remember why Sir Charmless is such a fitting epitaph for you.”

 

 “Are you trying to suggest that you don’t feel the urge to melt into a mass of quivering adulation at my feet?  Or name your firstborn child after the insults I rain upon your head?”

 

Aristandra tilted her head thoughtfully.  “Is that really what you’re accustomed to?”

 

 “Perhaps?”

 

 “You are, aren’t you?  Just how rich and/or handsome are you?  Wait, you’re both, aren’t you?  And unwed as well, I’d venture.”

 

 “I think that may be the first time I’ve ever heard ‘rich and handsome’ spoken in an accusatory tone.  Tell me - does your taste in prospective mates run towards the small, hairy and twitchy type?  The sort that carry diseases and make matrons shriek like little girls?”

 

Aristandra scrunched up her face.  “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about my prospective mate well - ever.”

 

There was a pause.  “Are you certain you’re not a cleric?”

 

 “Wouldn’t I know whether or not I’m a cleric?  I’m fairly certain I can tell the difference between being a cleric and being not-a-cleric.”

 

The boy hummed. “Can I really trust the judgement of someone who uses their precious time to bore rats?”

 

 “I’m not reading this for the sake of Russus and Felix!”

 

 “No?  All right.  I’ll ask.   _ Why _ are you reading ‘Politics across Nations’ if you’re not trying to bore rats?”

 

Aristandra huffed.  “Never in my life has my motivation been to, as you say, ‘bore rats.’  I don’t think there’s a single person in the world whose motivation is to bore rats.  I’m reading it for my own sake.  I need to do  _ something _ , if I’m ever going to get out of here.  I just - well - I figured that if I were free, I could earn my wages as a tutor.  Or something like that.”

 

The boy was silent for a moment.  “What keeps you from being free?  I’m only aware of one political prisoner here at Mahala Palace.  Aside from the insurgents and such in the dungeons.”

 

The sudden seriousness of the boy’s voice surprised Aristandra.  Was he really interested?  “I’ve been here at Mahala Palace for as long as I can remember.  I don’t really know anything else.  I ran away once - years ago, when I was eight.”

 

 “Are you a ward of the emperor?  I was under the impression that the emperor only takes in wards of noble blood and not - you know - Rat-girls.  What happened when you ran away?”

 

 “Arg!  I’m not a rat-girl, Sir Charmless.  The emperor provides for my needs.  I suppose I’m a ward, of sorts.  But -” Aristandra bit down on her lower lip.  Did she really want to reveal why she was here?  The fact that she was being used by the emperor for her prophetic abilities?  A feeling of jagged-edged coldness lanced through her core when she thought of how this boy would probably never speak to her again if he knew the truth.  

 

 “But?” the boy prodded.

 

 “But not.”

 

 “I feel like I suddenly understand everything,” the boy drawled.  “Your ability to clearly articulate your situation is impressive.”

 

Aristandra sighed.  “I just don’t want to talk about it.  If you knew, you’d - well -”

 

 “Supposedly stop speaking to you?” he completed her sentence.

 

Aristandra nodded before realizing he couldn’t see her.  “Yes.”

 

The boy hummed.  “I’m fairly certain that you underestimate the sheer breadth of my boredom.  The earth and stars tremble at the vast size of my boredom.  My boredom is so enormous that it even pushes me to carry on conversations with supposedly frightening Rat-girls.”

 

Aristandra rolled her eyes.  “If that’s the size of your boredom, I’d hate to imagine the size of your conceit.”

 

 “Yes - best not.  You’d probably hurt yourself if you tried.”  

 

Aristandra felt her lips quirking upwards as she heard the amusement in his voice.  

 

 “Will you tell me about the time you ran away?” the boy requested.

 

 “It’s - rather embarrassing.”

 

 “I wouldn’t worry about that.  You’re reading ‘Politics across Nations’ to rats.  I don’t think you can sink much lower.”

 

Aristandra huffed.

 

 “Besides,” the boy continued.  “I’ve thought of running away a lot.”  He sighed, his tone of voice darkening.  “At least you’ve  _ actually _ done it.”

 

Aristandra furrowed her brow.  “If you’re a noble, why can’t you just leave?  Especially if you’re actually rich.  And handsome.”

 

 “There are reasons,” the boy answered, his voice flat.

 

Aristandra had the feeling he wouldn’t be telling her anymore than that.  She felt a moment of self-consciousness as she thought of how she’d be revealing her failure-of-an-attempt to run away.  But she pushed aside her embarrassment and began to tell the tale.  When she finished, there was a moment of silence.

 

 “So you don’t have any source of income,” the boy murmured.

 

Aristandra shook her head.  “No.”

 

 “And yet you’re not a cleric, and you’re also highly educated.  But you’re not a noble.”

 

Aristandra’s expression became mulish.  “I’m not going to tell you who I am or what I am.”

 

 “Oh, I know  _ what _ you are.  You’re a Rat-girl.  You  _ do _ realize that if I really wanted to know who you are, I could just leave my chambers and find out?”

 

The boy’s words caused Aristandra’s heart to feel as though it has momentarily stopped, frozen by pure panic.  “If you see who I am, then I’ll see who  _ you _ are.”

 

 “Yes,” the boy sighed.  “Fortunately for you, I’m not looking for any new parasitic followers in my life.”

 

 “Considering that I don’t fawn over the emperor or any of his children, I can’t imagine myself falling all over you,” Aristandra pointed out.

 

 “Well, then maybe I’m just trying to save you from becoming emotionally devastated when you see my impossibly handsome and unattainable face?”

 

Aristandra shook her head.  Whoever this boy was, he was  _ impossible _ .  “Just admit that you want to maintain your secrecy as much as I do.”

 

 “I’ll admit nothing.  Well, I will say this much.  This has been - fun.”

 

Aristandra felt a smile pulling at her lips.  “Yeah?”

 

 “Yeah.  Though in line with my enormous conceit, I must take credit for all the amusement that was had.”

 

Aristandra’s smile widened.  “All right.  I suppose it’s only fitting.”


	7. Chapter 7

After hearing about the mysterious girl's runaway attempt, Leander found himself thinking of her a great deal.  Of course, he couldn't shake his initial image of a waifish, dirty and unattractive Rat-girl, so his thoughts were little more than a mix of idle curiosity and boredom.  In the weeks after their second talk, they began to speak regularly and he learned that she was a year younger than him.  It was then that he started thinking of her like a little sister.  After all, she did remind him of his siblings, not necessarily because of her personality, but because she was so easy to talk to.  And while he had not intended to form any attachments, he made an exception for Rat-girl because it was clear that she hated Mahala Palace as much (if not more) than he did.

 

He also tried to act like an older brother towards her as well.  Though he was still fairly young, Leander had far too many people tossing themselves at him, in large part because of his status but also because of his appearance.  Having long ago learned the bitter lesson of how people would associate with him solely because he was a prince, Leander was fairly sensitive to whether or not a person’s interest in him seemed genuine.  He didn’t want for Rat-girl to become just another slavish admirer of his title.  It was nice to have someone who seemed to like him for who he was, rather than what he was.  

 

They had been speaking for nearly a month when the mysterious girl got so weary of being called Rat-girl that she insisted on being called Aris instead.  And because Leander thought of her as a friend, he told her that she could call him Lee.  Neither of them had revealed their real names or identities.  Whenever they spoke, they felt like they were in a world apart from Mahalan.

 

The more that Leander spoke to Aris and got to know her, the more he cared about her well-being.  He felt increasingly protective of her as time passed, wishing he could help her directly with her problems, while forcibly reminding himself that he needed to keep his own secrets.   He resented the mage for the way the older man verbally abused her, and did his best to alleviate her feelings of loneliness and isolation.  But it was never any hardship to keep her company; he preferred her presence over anyone else’s.  He realized that beyond her initial defensiveness, she was actually incredibly kind and sweet.  Because of this, he felt that he could tell her almost anything - his hopes, his fears, his moments of dark anger, or even his occasional jest that went a bit too far.  Only his true name and title remained mysteries.  And she shared her own feelings, secrets and conflicts as well.  He found that talking to her about her problems effectively distracted him from his own.

 

He enjoyed offering her ideas for how she might gain her independence.  He told her what he knew about what tutors were expected to teach, or about his observations of life in large cities as opposed to life within small villages or about the different types of people he had encountered outside the palace.  He never revealed his royal or hostage status - he knew she would be sympathetic, and would probably fret more about him than about herself.  Instead, as they spoke of their mutual dreams of freedom, he let her believe that he’d be able to join her.  It was simply easier that way.

 

But more than that, he found himself thinking that if he were ever freed, he’d take her with him.  He had a feeling that his siblings would like her, and she was like his little sister after all.  As the youngest sibling in his family, he liked knowing that there was someone younger for him to look out for and protect.  He was sure that she would be able to easily find work and gain her independence in Daelyn.  And since no one in his homeland would know her (other than himself), she could start with a clean slate, without any stigma of fear hanging over her head.  Leander could feel a smile spreading across his face as he imagined her being surrounded by people that liked her and enjoyed her company.

 

Months passed this way, and before Leander realized it, mysterious little Aris, the befriender-of-rats had become his best friend.  He had a feeling that she was the only reason he hadn’t fallen into the depths of destructive rage or depression.  She was like the touch of warm sunlight in a prisoner’s frigid cell, or a rope flung out to someone sinking in a quagmire.  He hated to be grateful for anything the emperor had done, but he was grateful that he had had the chance to meet Aris.

 

He learned to read the inflections in her voice so that even if he couldn’t see her face, he could still know the shifts of her thoughts and emotions.  And on days when he didn’t feel like conversing, he sometimes just listened to her as she read out loud to the rodents.  At this point, he was aware enough of her schedule to know when to expect her.  He knew that she had lessons daily, and always visited her little rodent friends afterwards, almost always with a book in hand.  But although it was tempting, he did not spend all of his time in his room, conversing with Aris.  Socializing with the other royals and nobles was usually the only way he could acquire any news of what was happening in the empire, so as much as he loathed it, he still made an effort to show his face in court.

 

It was a particularly warm day, and Leander was at his bedroom window, conversing with Aris.  

 

 “Aris, I’m not going to sit by and permit your on-going inattentiveness,” Leander mockingly proclaimed.  “You’re missing the life-changing pearls-of-wisdom that are falling from my lips.  Clearly, something is on your mind.”

 

 “Pearls-of-wisdom?”  Aris laughed.  “Lee.  You’re talking about how many sycophants you’ve fantasized about skewering with a sword today.”

 

 “Yes, and you’re missing all the important details due to whatever is distracting you.”

 

 “And you’re going to command me to tell you?” He could hear the smile of amusement in her voice.

 

Leander smirked and shrugged.  “Wise men stick with what works.”

 

 “I don’t see any wise men around here.”

 

 “Well, you can’t see me at all, but if you could, you’d know what a wise man looks like.”

 

Aris hummed, sounding sceptical.  “If you say so.”

 

 “So?  Tell me.”

 

 “There’s a new girl here at court.”

 

Leander raised his eyebrows.  “And?”

 

 “And she seems to want to talk to me.  I think other people have warned her away, but it doesn’t seem to bother her.”

 

Leander began to mentally catalogue the faces of those who were new at court.  The only girl he could think of was Lady Dalia, and she was the betrothed of Prince Nonus.  But then it occurred to him that it was unlikely that Aris would associate with those in his circle.  She was probably talking about a cleric.

 

 “Is that why you were later than usual today?” Leander queried.

 

 “Did you miss me?” she answered with amusement.

 

 “You’re the only thing keeping me from going on a rampage of annihilation and turning Mahala Palace into ashes and dust.” Though Leander meant his answer in jest, the truth was that he did feel a pang of unease at her absence.

 

Aris laughed.  “I really wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to.  In fact, I’d help you out.  When do we start?”

 

 “Whenever you’re ready, Aris.  We could ask your rodent friends to help.  Get them to start breeding uncontrollably, and digging holes and burrows in the foundation.”

 

Aris fell into a fit of giggles.  “Oh Lee!  You should see Russus’ face!  I don’t think he likes your idea - I’ve never seen him look so disgusted.  I told you before, I’m pretty sure they’re not actually rodents.  The mage did something to them.”

 

 “But they aren’t necessarily human.  They could be - highly intelligent rodents.”

 

 “Hmm.  I don’t know.  Maybe.  You just find the idea unsettling.”

 

 “Well.  Yes.  If your theory proves correct, then it means we have two possibly middle-aged men in human bodies listening in on our conversation.  The idea is unsettling to say the least.  When I’m old and fat and lazy, I don’t want to spend my time listening to the conversation of thirteen-year-olds.  I’d like to think that I’d be doing something better with my life.  Dancing on the emperor’s corpse perhaps.”

 

 “I’m not thirteen yet.”

 

 “That just makes it worse.  So, do you think the new lady wishes to be your friend?”

 

Aris hummed.  “I’m not sure.  She might think I’m something that I’m not.  She asked me a lot of questions that I couldn’t answer.”

 

As Aris began to tell Leander more about the girl, he found himself wondering if Aris would choose to stay at Mahala Palace if she had friends here.  Leander knew how heavy the burden of isolation had been on Aris’ heart.  And as an older-brother-like-friend, he wanted her to be happy.  And yet, there was some dark part of him that felt uneasy.  He didn’t want to lose her to someone else.

 

Though Leander tried to remind himself that his social circles didn’t overlap with Aris’, he couldn’t help noticing the new girl that had arrived at court, Lady Dalia.  Lady Dalia, who was a rather silly but good-natured girl, seemed to have befriended the emperor’s Seer.  Could Aris possibly be the Seer?  Some of the pieces fit: people were either afraid of the seer or they thought she was beneath them, the seer didn’t appear to have friends (though she associated with the clerics), and on top of that, as the Seer, she had to deal with the mage.

 

And yet, Leander found that he couldn’t believe it.   _His_ Aris was sweet-natured and warm, whereas the Seer came across as ice cold; _his_ Aris was always laughing, and playing along with his jests, while the Seer looked as though she couldn’t even form a sincere smile if she tried; _his_ Aris befriended rats, while he couldn’t imagine the Seer venturing near any rodents (even if some part of Leander’s mind reminded him of that one moment when he had seen her patiently coaxing a cat); and finally _his_ Aris was - well - probably plain.  The Seer (whose name he still wasn’t sure of) was most definitely not plain.  No, to Leander, the Seer was unquestionably beautiful. And if, in the end, the Seer was _his_ Aris, there was no way he would be able to see her as just a ‘little sister.’  

 

Thinking of Aris caused feelings of fondness and protectiveness to rise within him.  If she were here, he’d want to take her away immediately.  If she were here, they could both laugh about how painfully stiff and artificial court-life was.  Maybe Aris could even bring her rodents, and let them loose in one of the lounging rooms or courtyards, just to watch the nobles or royals scream and flail about like hysterical monkeys.  The image caused a wicked grin to cross Leander’s face.

 

 “Thinking of something pleasant?” A coy voice asked.

 

Leander’s grin instantly vanished, and he narrowed his eyes at the ash-blonde that had sidled up to him.

 

 “I was thinking of -”

 

The ash-blonde girl’s eyes lit up, and she edged even closer to him.

 

 “Rats,” Leander finished.

 

The girl scrunched up her nose.  “Rats?”

 

 “Rats,” Leander affirmed.  “I was thinking that maybe I should consider acquiring one.  As a pet.”

 

The ash-blonde tittered nervously.  “Surely you jest, Prince Leander.”  She batted his arm, in what was probably meant to be a ‘playful’ gesture, and he edged away.

 

 “No jest.  If I had a pet rat, I could perhaps have some intellectual discussions for once.  About matters such as politics or philosophy.  A little better than having to deal with vacant-eyed courtiers, don’t you think?”

 

The girl frowned.  “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

Leander sighed.  “No, you wouldn’t, would you?  Oh look!  I believe I see a turnip salad.  Why don’t you go converse with that for a while.”

 

And with that, Leander quickly slipped out of the girl’s grasp, while she looked at him with a perplexed expression creasing her brow.  Moments like this made him wonder why he ever left his bedroom in the first place.  

 

And yet, Leander did manage to learn one interesting piece of gossip that made him both pleased and yet also achingly alienated and sad: His eldest brother was now handfasted and wed.  Life in Daelyn was going on without him.

 

-o-

 

Aristandra was thirteen and a half years of age, and she could not believe how much her life had changed in the span of a year.  She went from being a solitary and disconnected soul to having a best friend that was like an older brother, as well as having a friend in court, and of course, her two rodent companions.

 

Lady Dalia had been an unexpected addition in her life.  Aristandra didn’t think she would ever be pulled into the world of the royals and nobles again.  And while this might have bothered her when she was younger, the world of the nobles (and all of Mahalan, really) had lost its shine as she got older.  But while Lady Dalia was amiable and bubbly, Aristandra did not feel the same connection with Lady Dalia as she did with Lee (though she still occasionally called him Sir Charmless if his jests got too obnoxious.)

 

As the betrothed of Prince Nonus, Lady Dalia held a fairly high status at court.  She was from a old and rich noble family, but the family was near the outskirts of the empire, where conflict was more intense, and customs and values differed.  She did not seem to care about many of the things that the other courtiers found to be so important, such as mocking the lower classes or playing political games; however, she did have a deep love of textiles and fashions.  Furthermore, Lady Dalia’s household had had a minor oracle.  As a child, Lady Dalia had been obsessed with trying to interpret the oracle’s cryptic visions, and because of this, Lady Dalia easily shrugged aside the negative rumours surrounding Aristandra, treating her with a warm and easy kindness.

 

But as good-natured as Lady Dalia might have been, Aristandra could tell that the other girl still had a strong selfish streak, treating Aristandra almost like a pet rather than a person.  Lady Dalia was rich, pretty and betrothed to a prince.  It was unsurprising that she would end up being rather entitled, and if anything, it made her kind nature more remarkable.

 

As Lady Dalia’s ‘special friend,’ (which Lady Dalia actually called her, without a hint of irony) Aristandra found herself dragged along to whatever happened to catch Lady Dalia’s fancy.  Aristandra did not always allow herself to passively be pulled along with whatever Lady Dalia wanted to do.  But Lady Dalia seemed to be a grand master of the puppy-dog-doe-eye-baby-bunny face.  It was difficult to say ‘no’ to Lady Dalia’s large, soulful, light-brown eyes and chestnut ringlet curls.  Though Lady Dalia’s betrothal had been an arranged match, it was obvious that Prince Nonus was already more than halfway in love with her.

 

But to Aristandra, the most significant reason she did not submit to all of Lady Dalia’s whims was because she cherished her time with Lee.  Though they had been speaking to one another for nearly a year now, and she felt closer to him than she had ever felt to anyone, Lee’s identity was still a mystery.  She had been certain that he was a noble, but then at times, he had implied that he was not, and she found herself wondering if perhaps he was a cleric, or a particularly influential and rich courtier without noble blood.

 

Since Lee had mentioned, long ago, that he saw her as a younger sister, Aristandra often liked to imagine that Lee would look like a real older brother.  In her mind, he had the same golden-hued skin, with shiny black hair, and mischievous dark eyes.  Sometimes, she would imagine them meeting face to face, and she could imagine strangers saying: ‘Are you siblings?  You look so alike!’  It was one of her favourite fantasies.  At the very heart of the idea of Lee being her brother was the idea that she _belonged_.  No one other than Lee had ever made her feel that way.

 

Aristandra was climbing the stairs to the upper level to bring some food for Russus and Felix, and to hopefully get a chance to speak to Lee.  After her lessons with the cleric, Lady Dalia had insisted that Aristandra come along to see a musical ensemble from a troupe of travelling bards.  Aristandra did not mind Lady Dalia’s company when it was just the two of them, but when Lady Dalia dragged her along to fraternize with the royals and nobles, Aristandra could not help putting up her defencive walls.  She knew that her demeanour came across as cold and unapproachable, but in truth, she was only reflecting the behaviour of the nobles back at them.  

 

Because of the long couple of hours spent listening to the musicians (while the nobles and royals gossiped in the background), Aristandra was drained.  She wanted nothing more than to talk to Lee about how utterly exhausted, and yet overstrung, she was.  

 

After sitting cross-legged and setting out some cheese, bread and fruit tarts for Russus and Felix, she called out: “Lee?  Are you there?”

 

She tilted her head, waiting for a reply, but there was none.  With a sigh, she opened her book to the page where she had left off and began to read out loud.  Before long, she was engrossed in the book.

 

 “Aris!” called a familiar voice, interrupting her in the middle of a paragraph.

 

A wide smile spread across Aristandra’s face, and with it, a vibrant expansiveness that made her feel as if her heart was floating.  Just hearing his voice made her feel silly with happiness.  She set down the book.

 

 “Lee!” she replied brightly, leaning towards his voice.

 

 “How’s life in the ratty underbelly of society?”

 

Aristandra grinned and shook her head.  “I don’t live in the underbelly of society.  Just because I’ve befriended a rat and mouse - who - I’m quite certain, aren’t truly rats or mice - it doesn’t mean that I’m some ragged wretch, wading amidst the dregs of society.”

 

 “Don’t crush my precious illusions, Rat-girl.  Thinking of you in some rubbish heap, looking for moldy crusts to eat is the only thing that makes me feel better about my life.  I need _someone_ to be superior to.”

 

Aristandra rolled her eyes.  “Based on my understanding of your ambiguous position in society, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were superior to _everyone_.  I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me that you use the emperor as a footstool.”

 

 “How did you know about that?” Lee replied with mock surprise.  “I suppose it hardly matters.  He only counts as my _inferior_ footstool - you know, the one I use after I’ve been trekking through fields of manure and such.”

 

Aristandra raised her eyebrows, her voice wry.  “And next, you’ll be telling me that you use the holy fountains as your own personal toilet?”

 

 “Isn’t that what they’re for?”

 

Aristandra grinned with amusement, shaking her head once again.  “Yes, Lee.  The emperor is your footstool, the temples are your bathing rooms, and the rest of the world your candied bonbon.  But as your friend and almost-sister, don’t I get any benefits?”

 

Lee hummed.  “Well, you get the benefit of slowly fanning me while feeding me grapes?”

 

Aristandra laughed.  “What an honour.”

 

 “Aside from that, how have you been Aris?”

 

 “Weary,” Aristandra admitted with a small sigh.  “My friend ended up dragging me to a rather - ah - social event today.  She doesn’t seem to understand - or maybe she doesn’t care - that I make other people feel uncomfortable.”

 

Lee snorted scornfully.  “You should be happy that you make others uncomfortable.  You should be proud.  Rub it in their pompous, puffed up snouts.  Revel in their squirming, flush-cheeked, bulging-eyed embarrassment.  Make them so miserable that their cringes look like full-body spasms.  I would.”

 

Aristandra smiled wryly.  “I know you would Lee.  You would probably deliberately do something just to make it worse.”  She paused briefly.  “Lee - do you really talk like that to all your siblings?”

 

Lee laughed.  “Honestly?  Yes.  But my older sisters wouldn’t hesitate to whack me across the head for my more colourful language.  You’re too indulgent, Aris.”

 

 “Well, that and I can’t reach you,” Aris pointed out.

 

 “Hmm.  Yes.  That too.  By the time I get out of Mahala Palace, I’ll only be fit company for you and your gutter friends, I’m afraid.”

 

Aristandra smiled.  “Well.  I wouldn’t mind.  You’re free to join me in - well, I’m not actually in the gutter.  But you know what I mean.”

 

 “Yes.  You’re too sweet, Aris.”  The fondness in Lee’s voice made Aristandra flush with warmth.  “So what happened at this social event that your friend dragged you to?”

 

Aristandra began to describe the discomfort of being amidst the royals and nobles at the musical ensemble, without actually telling him just _where_ she was.  Both of them had gotten used to hiding their identities.  And while Aristandra often thought that she should take the risk and just _tell_ Lee who she really was, she had a feeling that Lee wasn’t entirely ready to do the same.  A part of Aristandra was still afraid that Lee would reject her if he knew she was the Seer.  But a larger part of her was coming to believe that he would accept her.  Nonetheless, she refrained from spilling the truth.

 

 “There’s also this boy there -” Aristandra continued.

 

 “Oh?  Do I detect some interest?”

 

Aristandra scowled.  “No!  He’s - I don’t know.  I don’t understand him.  I got the impression a long time ago that he’s a decent person somewhere beneath his prickly exterior.  But - he just _glares_ at me a lot.  Maybe I did something to upset or offend him without realizing it?”

 

 “He glares?”

 

Aristandra nodded (even though she knew he couldn’t see).  “Yes.  I mean, other people will give me disdainful or frightened looks.  And some people will glare at me, and then ignore me.  But he just - well - glares.  I don’t understand it.  He’s quite popular - though I think most of it is just his status.  He’s - hm - I suppose objectively, he’s handsome too - dark blond with eyes like - well - amber.  I don’t know what I did to earn his glares.”

 

 “Tell me who he is.”

 

Aristandra started.  Lee’s tone of voice had become surprisingly _dark_.  “I - I don’t know.  I thought - well - aren’t we trying to keep our identities secret?”

 

 “I’m not asking for _your_ identity.  I’m asking for _his_.  Tell me and I’ll gouge his eyes out for you.”

 

 “Lee - I don’t want you gouging out _anyone’s_ eyes.”

 

 “Tell me so I can at least imagine it.  Just tell me.”

 

 “Why are you so interested?” Aristandra questioned.  “He’s hardly the first person to have given me odd looks or treated me rudely.”

 

 “Yes, and all those other people deserve to die a slow death by being incrementally cooked on a tiny spit.  Now tell me his name.”

 

 “I - I don’t know.  Promise me you won’t hurt him?  He’s kind of - really - important.  I mean, he’s not one of the emperor’s children or anything, but he’s still important.”

 

 “Prince Leander,” Lee said flatly.

 

 “I - well -”

 

Lee made an odd, frustrated sort of sound.  

 

 “Lee?  Are you all right?”

 

 “Yeah - yes.  I just - I need to think.”

 

 “Lee?  Lee?  Are you still there?” Aristandra furrowed her brows.  However, Lee didn’t seem to be answering.  What had happened?  Why had he gotten so upset about Prince Leander?  Admittedly, it was strange because Prince Leander had been glaring at her _a lot_ lately, and not just at this musical ensemble.  But she had never been able to figure out what those looks meant.

 

She hoped that Lee wasn’t going to do anything reckless or foolish.  Someone like Prince Leander would be a dangerous enemy to have.  There had been a time, long ago, when she speculated on the possibility that Lee could have been Prince Leander.  But when she considered Lee’s playful and teasing personality in contrast to Prince Leander’s bored hostility, she couldn’t imagine them being the same person.  Of course, Lee could act arrogant enough to be royalty, but he also acted as if it were all just a farce.

 

Whatever it was, she hoped it wasn’t serious.  Lee was her best friend, and someone like Prince Leander wasn’t worth getting worked up over.  No matter how honourable or good Prince Leander was on the inside, that still didn’t change the fact that he was a surly, ill-tempered (and yes, handsome) person on the outside.


	8. Chapter 8

Leander felt like a mess.  He also felt like he should finally reveal his identity to Aris, who turned out to be the Seer Aristandra.  He didn’t really have any rational reasons for keeping it a secret after all.  At this point, it was just flimsy excuses and habit.  He had discovered that his Aris was Aristandra the Seer _months_ ago, during one fateful conversation in which his sweet little Aris mentioned that a certain _someone_ had been glaring at her.  And when Leander thought back to his behaviour, there had really only been one person that he had being doing any prolonged glaring at.  The pieces all fell together in that moment, and rather than revealing the truth to Aris, Leander had fled like some sort of disgraceful faint-of-heart.  When he had spoken to Aris again a couple days after, she had been so worried about him, as though she had been the one at fault, rather than himself.  He had never felt quite so low.

 

He had been upset of course.  He had felt somehow betrayed, even though no betrayal had actually occurred.  He had thought that his Aris was someone _safe_ , someone familiar, someone he could open himself up to with no real risk.  He had thought that she was plain (or even ugly), and unassuming.  He had thought that she could be brushed aside.  And he realized that he had been terrible, and that he had been selfish.  That he had taken advantage of her time and her company, and although he had thought of bringing her back to Daelyn, he probably would have forgotten her once he was with his real family.

 

But underneath it all, that was a lie too - a lie he was telling himself.  No, if he dug deeper, if he rooted around in that soft, hidden, vulnerable place in the dark corners of his heart, he would have had to admit that he never would have been able to brush aside Aris.  He’d never be able to forget her.   _That_ part of himself knew that it was far too late. _That_ part of himself knew that he cared far, far too much - no matter if Aris’ true face was that of a plain Rat-girl or the face of a beautiful Seer.   _That_ part of Leander’s heart would never have been able to let Aris go, because it was the part of his heart that was already held by Aris - that _belonged_ to her.  

 

It was at this point that Leander had no idea what to do.  And so, for months, he just tried to pretend that things were normal, and distracted Aris with his caustic comments and hyperbolic sense of humour, all the while hoping that she wouldn’t notice if he was being weird or awkward.  But for Leander, the situation only felt more bizarre and awkward than ever.

 

He realized that it was one thing to throw off casual, biting comments, or make borderline-offensive jokes to someone he thought of as Rat-girl.  It was another thing altogether when he realized that his abrasive and sardonic style of badinage was being directed at a Really Beautiful and Elegant Girl, who could probably break hearts with a sideways glance.  It was oddly embarrassing, even if it also made him feel defensive because after all, he was only being himself, and at the end of the day, he still liked who he was.

 

But there was no denying that it felt odd to know that he was directing his rather crass language at the lovely Aristandra.  And that it was Aristandra who had felt isolated and alienated.  And it was Aristandra who was burdened by the fears of others.  And, even more remarkable, it was Aristandra who was friends with _rats_.

 

And as the months passed, and he processed his thoughts and feelings, piece by piece (while Aris kept asking him “Is everything all right?  You seem troubled, and distant”) he was finally able to accept the situation.  Until it occurred to him that: ' _Oh gods, she thinks of me as a brother._ I _convinced her to think of me as a brother._ ’ Leander certainly didn't think of Aris as a sister - not anymore.  But so long as she saw him as a brother, he could never take advantage of, and betray that role of trust, could he?  Thinking of it only seemed to make his head hurt.

 

Despite Leander's internal conflict and confusion, there was one thing he was sure of.  It was time to tell Aris the truth.  He was fifteen - old enough to be considered a man in the empire.  He could handle a fourteen-year-old Seer couldn't he?  The idea made him simultaneously nervous but also curiously excited.  If Aris knew, they could speak face to face.  If she knew, he could see her reactions - see her as she laughed at his jokes.  Was she tactile, like the clingy ash-blonde girl?  The idea of Aristandra touching him made his pulse quicken.  How had he ever managed to convince himself to see her as a sister?  The notion seemed ludicrous now.

 

Unfortunately, it was early yet.  Aris would still be at her lessons.  And it just occurred to him that this was the day that she had her monthly meetings with the mage.  He cursed under his breath, feeling restless with impatience.

 

He spent most of the morning in the palace’s library, at one point, catching sight of Aristandra sitting at one of the library's desks with a cleric.  She appeared engrossed in her lesson, and he felt a sense of admiration and respect for her studiousness and dedication.  He thought she would probably make an excellent tutor.  But now that he was aware that she was a Seer, he was knew of one other option available to her - she could offer her abilities as a prophetess to a patron, who would probably gladly pay for such a rare, and possibly powerful ability.  Her talents must have been unmistakable if the emperor had wanted to keep her and make use of her skills for all these years.

 

In the afternoon, he made his way to one of the more populated courtyards.  He wasn't particularly eager to socialize, but he hoped to hear news of what was happening in the empire, and perhaps even get word of what was occurring in Daelyn.  It was maddening that the contentious relationship between the empire and Daelyn made sending letters nearly impossible.  Occasionally, he received the odd letter that his family had been able to sneak in, using merchants or other intermediates, but these letters were extremely rare.  The last thing that he had heard was that his eldest brother’s wife was pregnant.  Had they had their baby yet?

 

He walked towards the central fountain of the courtyard, which was rectangular in shape, the edges forming stone seats that the young nobles and royals like to sit on.  To one side, sitting slightly apart from the others, he saw Lady Dalia and Prince Nonus engaged in flirtatious banter.  Princess Octavia, who had noticed his arrival, inclined her head politely towards him, and there was a malicious gleam in her eyes.  They had never liked one another, but Princess Octavia had always been better at maintaining her polished mask, lashing out only with a few, well placed spoken barbs.  Unfortunately, Princess Octavia was one of the keenest gossips of the younger set of nobles, and if he wanted news, then Princess Octavia’s devoted attendants were likely the ones to hear it from.

 

 “Prince Leander,” Princess Octavia greeted, the corners of lips tilting up into the smallest and most insincere smile imaginable.  “What brings you here?”

 

 “Princess Octavia.” Leander nodded politely in reply.  “I’m here to enjoy your lovely company, of course.”  

 

While Leander _could_ antagonize Princess Octavia, it wasn’t the same as dealing with nobles.  It had to be much more subtle, masking one’s true meanings behind friendly words.  It wasn’t the sort of game Leander liked to play - especially when it was in his nature to be more direct.

 

Princess Octavia’s false smile turned into a just as small, but more genuine smirk.  “Aren’t you just a _dear_ ,” she purred.  “What do you like best about my company?”

 

Leander’s first thought was: ‘ _Leaving it_ ,’ but he could hardly say that out loud.  Instead, he said: “The intellectual challenge.”  It would be double-edged enough to sound complimentary, while suggesting that Princess Octavia’s presence was difficult.  Which it was.  The Princess certainly wasn’t _stupid_ \- on the contrary, she was exceedingly clever.  Unfortunately, her cleverness came in a mean-hearted little package.  Though perhaps Leander would have had a completely different experience if he had fallen over himself over Princess Octavia’s charms when he had first met her.  She was very generous to her followers, after all.

 

 “Oh?”  Princess Octavia’s eyelids fell to half-mast.  “I’ve been missing out then.”

 

Leander’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed at Princess Octavia’s insult.  But it would be pointless to get worked up about her gibes.

 

 “Let’s have a little discussion then, shall we?” she suggested coyly.  “To match wits?”

 

Leander wanted nothing more than to turn tail and leave.  Most of the time, Princess Octavia was content to simply give him one or two backhanded compliments before ignoring him completely.  Evidently, today wasn’t one of those days.  Since there was no way to politely extricate himself from the situation, Leander tried not to sigh as he pasted a smile on his face and conversed with the Princess.  He might have hated the emperor, but he was suddenly very glad that it wasn’t Princess Octavia who was in charge of running the empire.

 

It wasn’t until Leander could feel a headache pulsing behind his temples that Princess Octavia finally released him from her merciless grips.  While it was tempting to simply return to his chambers, the whole reason that he had even come down here in the first place was that he wanted news.

 

Stepping away from Princess Octavia, he moved towards one of the groups standing a bit to the side.  They were discussing one of the distant tribes that the emperor was attempting to conquer.  While it was interesting to hear about distant tribes with their unusual customs and strange looking people, it wasn’t the sort of information that he want to hear.  Perhaps there was no news.  Perhaps all was well in Daelyn.

 

He was about to turn and leave when he heard a voice calling out: “Prince Leander!”

 

He turned and nodded towards an older boy who had called his name.  He didn’t remember the name of the noble, but thought he knew which family he had descended from.

 

 “How goes your day?” Leander queried blandly.

 

 “Ah - fine, fine, thank you.  I just heard something from my older sister today - I don’t know if it’s even true - you know how rumours can be - but I thought you might like to know.”

 

Leander raised his eyebrows.  “Oh?”

 

 “Well, I certainly hope it’s not true.  Never did like malicious gossip.  It’s not pleasant news unfortunately, though I can’t see why anyone would make it up. And if it’s not true, I’d hate to think that I’ve worried you for nothing.  I don’t necessarily want to be the be the bearer of bad news, but then I thought to myself: ‘if I were in that position, I’d probably want to know,’ so I thought it best to tell you.  It’s just - you know how these things are - ah - this is a mite awkward, isn’t it?”

 

Leander ground his teeth.  He wanted to yell: ‘Spit it out!’ but it was clear that the noble was only getting increasingly nervous.  The older youth was looking as though he was about to change his mind at any moment, turn around, and run.

 

 “I understand,” Leander said instead.  “I wouldn’t blame the messenger for bringing the news.  I’d appreciate any information you have about Daelyn, good or bad.”

 

The noble looked a little relieved to hear this.  He gave Leander a nervous smile, which Leander tried to return, even if it looked more like a grimace.

 

 “It’s just that I heard that - and please!  Keep in mind that it’s still just a rumour! Well, according to my sister, who heard it from a merchant travelling from that direction - and who knows how trustworthy those merchants are?”

 

 “Yes?” Leander gritted out.

 

 “They say that the monarch of Daelyn - ah - your father, I suppose - has - ah - well -”

 

 “My father has -?”

 

 “Supposedly fallen ill.  Ah - gravely ill.  I’m sorry Prince Leander.  I do so hope it isn’t true.”

 

Of all things that Leander had expected to hear, he hadn’t expect that.  Leander’s father had always been a big and robust man - if anything, Leander could imagine his father falling in battle.  But an illness?  It seemed impossible.

 

All Leander could think was: ‘ _I have to get out of here.  I have to leave and go back to Daelyn.  I need to see my father - my family._ ’

 

He didn’t remember leaving the courtyard.  He hardly remembered running out of Palace Gates.  Of course, he knew that it would be ridiculous to run all the way to Daelyn from Mahalan, but it would be easy enough to gain passage to the principality by way of one of the numerous trade caravans that crossed the length of the empire and beyond.

 

Some corner of his mind remembered Aris’s words - remembered how she had described her runaway attempt, and how no one ever stopped her at the gates.  Some corner of his mind also remembered the potion that mage had given him.  What would it do to him?  He would have to deal with the consequences later.  And what of the treaty between the empire and Daelyn being broken?  To Leander, his father’s well being was more important.

 

And finally, what about Aris?  Could he really leave her behind?  His best friend and perhaps, if his hopes came true, then more?  It was the one thing that made him hesitate, and question his actions.  And the only thing that kept Leander on his path - that kept him going - was the promise to himself that he’d be back.  He’d be back to take Aris away from this place.  

 

It wasn’t until Leander was outside the city walls that he realized the error of his actions.  He had thought that he could deal with the mage’s potion, but once he was outside of Mahalan, he could immediately tell that something was terribly wrong.  He managed to only run a couple hundred meters before he collapsed onto his hands and knees, crying out in agony.  Had he been poisoned?  Was this the moment that he would fall over and die, not even a kilometer from Mahalan, broken and disgraced?

 

And yet, despite the horrible pain, Leander didn’t die.  Despite the fact that it felt like his bones were shifting and his skin and organs were stretching and reshaping, he didn’t die.  He watched with rising horror as golden tawny fur sprung across his body, and his hands transformed into wide, padded paws.  Was this the moment he became like one of Aris’ rats?

 

He wanted to laugh, a bitter, hopeless sort of laugh, but what came out was more like a growl instead.  And he realized then that he was no rat.  No, the mage’s potion had done it’s work but it hadn’t turned him into any sort of rodent.  There’d be no hiding for someone as ‘important’ as Prince Leander.  He was no rat at all, that could tuck itself away in fields, or live in the warmth of some farmer’s barn.  He wouldn’t have to worry about predators at all, except for the danger posed by humans.  That was because the mage’s potion had turned him, not into any pitiful rodent, but instead, made him into a king of beasts.  He was a lion.


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 2**

 

Being in an entirely new body was a little like reverting back to being a baby, and learning to coordinate one’s body once again.  For Leander, trying to walk as a lion was difficult without tripping over his own padded paws and falling flat on his face.  His perspective of the world appeared completely bizarre from the angle of his eyes.  Everything looked so much  _ higher _ than before, not to mention, the sheer strangeness of being able to see the length of his snout.  And on top of all that, he now had a long tail.  What was he even supposed to do with that thing?

 

The colours he was accustomed to look somehow wrong, and he was sure that his field of vision had changed.  Certain things seemed more sharp, while others were more blurry.  And he was now sharply aware of just how inconvenient it was to lack hands with proper fingers and thumbs.  He had to pick things up with his  _ mouth _ .  It took a while to get past the idea of just how disgusting that was. 

 

But the truth was, Leander had not thought about any of these things until much later.  After the shock of Leander’s initial transformation (and the time spent, learning how to walk and then run), his thoughts were of his father, of his family, of Daelyn.  Lion or not, he had to return home.  There was no way that he’d be able to make his way with a merchant’s train now.  In fact, going anywhere near humans presented too great a risk.  Leander was all too aware of what humans did to lions when given the chance: either he’d be captured and used for entertainment in the arenas, or he’d be killed for his pelt.  The only option then was to travel to Daelyn on foot.

 

The journey took Leander over a week, and it came close to killing him.  He stopped only for water and sleep.  He didn’t know how to go about hunting, and the idea of slaying and eating animals didn’t even cross his mind.  Fear for his father and adrenaline kept him on his feet, running.  When Leander had left Mahalan, his coat had been glossy and sleek, and his muscles strong.  But by the time he reached Daelyn, his coat had lost it’s shine, and his ribs could be seen protruding from his side.

 

As Leander neared the capital city, he began to wonder how he would even enter Daelyn’s castle.  If he had been transformed into a rat, it would be a simple matter of just scurrying in.  But he was a lion.  There was nothing about him that was inconspicuous. 

 

In the end, though he was eager to rush straight ahead, Leander decided his best option would be to enter the castle after nightfall.  Some part of him wanted to believe that his family would somehow  _ know _ that it was him, even though he was a lion, but if he turned out to be wrong, he could very well end up paying the price with his life.

 

He knew that he couldn’t enter the city through the main gates.  He would have to take down the guards that always kept watch, and had no desire to hurt his own citizens.  Fortunately, since he was royalty, he was aware of a secret passage that led into the city.

 

Leander found a secluded spot outside the city walls, and knowing that there was nothing to do until nightfall, he decided that he would rest.  He was both physically and mentally drained, and thought that he would fall into an easy sleep.  After all, he needed his senses to be alert come nightfall.  Unfortunately, once Leander flopped down and curled up into a ball, he found that his mind was racing and wouldn’t still itself.  He kept thinking: ‘ _ What if my father’s health is worse than the rumour suggested?  What if he has already died?  Could I be too late?  Should I be trying to get into the castle now instead of later? _ ’

 

He kept shifting his position, trying (and failing) to get comfortable, but eventually, he did fall into an uneasy sleep.  When Leander awoke, he did not feel at all rested, but the sun had set and it meant that he could attempt to sneak into Daelyn’s castle.

 

The city’s secret entrance was a relatively short distance from the main gates, and with Leander’s new body, finding it took no time at all.  Leander might prefer being a human over being a lion, but there was no denying that as a lion, he was able to move quickly and with great agility.  If he were a lion under almost any other circumstances, he might have even enjoyed the experience.  The only drawback was being unable to talk.

 

A movement caught Leander’s attention at the corner of his eye, and he quickly dashed into the shadows and crouched low to the ground, watching as a watchman walked by.  With Leander’s senses so alert, he was suddenly aware of how strongly the watchman smelled.  Did people always smell like that?  While he had been travelling from Mahalan to Daelyn, he hadn’t been paying much attention to the odors around him, but now, he was extremely conscious of it.

 

The watchman did not notice Leander at all, and he exhaled in relief.  The small rush of adrenaline helped to wake him up, and give him a small burst of energy.  Hopefully it would be enough to take him into the castle without being detected.  He crept silently along the wall, watching for the familiar V-shaped tree that marked the entrance of the secret passageway, and managed to find it easily enough.

 

The secret entrance into the city was a small and narrow tunnel, about the width of an arm-length and a half.  It burrowed under the city walls, and was hidden by a cleverly disguised trap door.  In his lion form, it took a bit of awkward maneuvering, but eventually, Leander managed to open the trapdoor.  A shiver ran down his spine as he looked down into the dark, dusty and cobweb-filled hole in the ground.  But Leander’s determination was stronger than his fear, and he plunged forward.  It was just as awkward trying to close the trapdoor, but Leander knew that the safety of his family relied on keeping such secrets as secrets.  He didn’t like venturing forward in such a narrow and claustrophobic space, but it had to be done.

 

Fortunately, the length of the tunnel was relatively short, and Leander emerged within the city, in an relatively quiet residential district.  Though he knew he should have been focused on reaching the castle, he felt a strong wave of nostalgia as he looked around him.  The architecture here was so different from Mahalan.  Whereas in Mahalan, many of the buildings were low and round, here in Daelyn, they were tall and rectangular.  In Mahalan, almost everything was some sort of shade of white or off-white, but Daelyn was rich with colour, from the walls, to the shutters to the doors, as well as the greenery and flowers that people decorated their homes with.  Of course, it wasn’t quite as nice in the poorer districts, but even there, people’s homes had some degree of character.

 

Leander shook his head.  He couldn’t let his feelings distract him.  What mattered was getting into the palace and seeing his family.  And somehow, he had to do it all while making sure that they didn’t try and kill him for being a lion.  He padded through the dark, lantern lit streets, sticking to the shadows, and hiding whenever he heard the sound of any humans.

 

As he slinked through the streets, a voice from a window of one of the houses startled him.

 

 “Mama!” a high-pitched child’s voice cried out.  “Look!  It’s a huge kitty outside!  It’s even bigger than papa!”

 

 “Oh sweetling,” a female voice answered indulgently.  “You have such a vivid imagination, but a cat that big would never be on the streets on Daelyn.”

 

 “But it’s true, mama!  Look!  Look!”

 

 “Child, it’s just a shadow -”

 

 “But  _ mama _ !!  Just looook!”

 

Leander didn’t remain to find out if the mother had decided to look out the window.  He couldn’t risk the chance of being caught and dashed away, bounding closer towards the familiar castle that he thought of as his home.  His heart was racing, but at the same time, he was so close that he could almost imagine the faces of his parents and siblings, and smell the fragrant scent of the herbs that freshened the air of the castle.

 

Getting into the castle would be a bit more challenging than entering the city gates.  While the castle had secret passages, most of those passages allowed inhabitants to exit the castle, but there weren’t secret ways to enter.  It was a matter of security more than anything.  However, Leander did have one advantage that a human wouldn’t have - his newfound ability to jump extremely high.

 

While Leander wanted to go to his father right away, something held him back.  In Leander’s mind, his father was a hearty and boisterous figure, with his barrel-shaped body, and ruddy hair and beard.  But the rumours had said that he was gravely ill.  Just how ill was he?  What if the shock of seeing Leander as a lion was enough to stop his heart?  Leander could never live with himself if he accidently killed his father.

 

Instead, Leander decided that his best choice would be to try and find his brother that was closest to him in age.  They had always been extremely close growing up, and if anyone would believe that Leander was a lion, it would be his brother Landon.

 

It was important to keep in mind that the mentality towards magic was completely different in Daelyn than it was in Mahalan.  The emperor of Mahala had his own mage and the man was capable of powerful magic.  Most people might not have witnessed his actions first-hand, but they did not doubt his ability.  Here in Daelyn, there might be hedge witches and oracles, but if someone were to claim that it was possible to turn animals into people, they would be told that the idea was too fantastical to be believed.  The idea that Leander’s own family might not believe him sent a icy bolt through his heart, but he tried not to think of it.  

 

The castle of Daelyn was ringed by its own protective wall, and Leander followed along the perimeter of the wall, trying to determine the easiest spot from which to attempt to jump.  Most of the wall was a fair distance from any trees or structures to avoid the dangers of invasion, but Leander managed to find a tree that he could possibly jump from.  It would be a risk, and he knew that lions weren’t exactly known for climbing the way that leopards were.  However, when Leander made the attempt to get into the branches, it was surprisingly easy.  He glanced from the branch over to the wall, and with a leap, he managed to just barely get his front paws on the ledge, using his back paws to try and scramble up the side.

 

Though this higher viewpoint meant that he was more exposed, Leander couldn’t resist using the opportunity to look around.  Everything was greyish-black and shadowy in the dark of night, but Leander still felt a sense of comfort being back in the familiar landscape of Daelyn.  He looked towards the castle.  It wasn’t as elegant as Mahala Palace, but it was a sturdy building, with several towers, built of sandy coloured stone with darker tan tiles for the roof.  The style of the towers were not consistent.  This was because different parts of the castle had been built at different times - but Leander thought that it added character.  He jumped off the wall and padded around the side of the castle, trying to decide which entry way to use.  The servant’s entrance would probably be his safest bet.

 

As Leander neared the servant’s entrance, he realized that he would be able to make use of his sense of smell to determine if any people were nearby.  Having a sharp sense of smell was like opening up a whole new world.  He was able to sense that people had been using the door fairly recently, but the scent was also a bit old.  Leander pawed at the door, managing to open it and slipped inside the castle.  He was drawn in by the smell of meat from the kitchens, and a feeling of intense hunger overwhelmed his mind.  He knew he should have been heading straight for his brother’s room, but before he knew it, he had taken a slap of meat in his mouth and was quickly gobbling it up.

 

Once his stomach was no longer nagging him so incessantly, Leander made his way through the corridors and up the stairs.  His brother Landon had a room in one of the towers, which meant a great deal of climbing.  And if Leander’s nose could be trusted, it seemed as though Landon had not changed his room in the time that Leander was gone.  For a brief moment, Leander wondered how he even knew his brother’s scent, when as a human, he had never smelled it.  But he shrugged it off.  There were more important things he had to deal with.  The guards that patrolled the halls were easy to avoid, and before long, Leander had bounded up all the stairs and he was at his brother’s door.

 

To Leander’s surprise, he could see dim light from the cracks of the door.  But it occurred to him that when he was younger, Landon always had a tendency to stay up late at night, and sleep during the day.  The only reason he could support such a habit was because as a royal, he could afford to burn lamp oil for hours on end.  Leader supposed that this made things easier for him.  Instead of sneaking into his brother’s room, he could just knock instead.

 

Though he did attempt a knock, it ended up being more like a scratch on the door, and Leander’s claws even left long lines across the wood.  But evidently it was enough.

 

 “Axe in the groin!” Landon swore from behind the door.  Leander raised his eyebrows.  He knew Landon would never speak in that kind of language in front of any nobles, but apparently, he had no issue with language when he was on his own.  

 

 “Who is it?” Landon called out.

 

Since Leander was unable to answer, he scratched at the door again.

 

 “What in the deities name do you want?” Landon asked, sounding frustrated.  “I’m in the middle of  _ very _ important project and I  _ don’t appreciate _ this interruption.”

 

Leander scratched again.

 

 “Hex it!  Fine!”  Leander could hear footsteps coming towards the door, so he backed away.  Landon flung open the wooden door, and when he laid his eyes upon Leander, an undignified high-pitched yelp escaped his lips and he stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over himself.  If Leander were human, he would have been laughing.

 

 “Holy brain-scrambled deities!” Landon swore.  “It’s a lion!  Hex!”   Landon scrambled to reach for something that was out of Leander’s view, and Leander’s eyes widened when he saw a crossbow-like contraption point straight at his face.  Leander knew he had to act fast, so he did the first thing he could think of.  He flopped over, exposing his belly, showing the most vulnerable position possible.

 

Landon blinked, and slowly lowered his crossbow-like weapon.  “You’re not going to attack me?”

 

Leander shook his head to say ‘no.’

 

Landon’s expression became even more surprised.  “Did you - did you just understand what I said?”

 

Leander nodded.

 

 “Holy grandfather of all rutting deities -” Landon exhaled.  “You understand me.”

 

Leander nodded again.  It was a bit awkward since he was still on his back.

 

 “Hex -” Landon shook his head.  “How did you find me?  Did you specifically come looking for me?”

 

Leander nodded, and since it was uncomfortable on his back, he rolled to his side.  Landon flinched back, and Leander felt a bit like his heart was being squeezed in a vice, seeing his own brother shy away from him.  But Landon soon regained his confidence.

 

 “This is unbelieveable,” Landon murmured.  He gave Leander an uncertain look.  “You’re not going to - ah - eat me, right?”

 

Leander gave him an offended look that said: ‘how can you think that off me?’

 

Landon laughed nervously.  “Well - all right.  Ah - come in.  Sorry, my room is a bit of a mess.  I’ve got a few projects I’m working on.”

 

Leander padded into Landon’s room, and to say that it was ‘a bit of a mess’ was an understatement.  There were bits and pieces of things everywhere - mostly bits of metal and tools, but also wood, and parchment and fabric.  When they were younger, Landon always enjoyed building and creating things, and it appeared that in the time that Leander was gone, Landon’s interest had only increased.

 

Now that Landon was no longer so guarded, Leander also had a good chance to examine his older brother.  Landon had reddish-gold coloured hair, and evidently, he hadn’t changed the style, since it still brushed the tips of his shoulders.  Though he was taller than Leander remembered, he was as gangly as ever.  The ladies used to always comment that Leander’s two eldest brothers as well as Leander were the ‘handsome’ ones.  While Landon wasn’t ugly by any stretch, he was a bit awkward looking.

 

 “I’m currently trying to build a flying machine,” Landon admitted, when he noticed Leander’s observations.  “But that project is proving to be a challenge.  I’m not sure if it’s entirely possible through mechanical means, so I’ve been doing a lot of reading on magic.  I know a lot of people think magic is limited to dreams and prophecies, but apparently, that might not be the case.”  Landon raised his eyebrows.  “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Sir Lion?”

 

Leander shrugged and nodded.  He knew more about magic than he wanted, but of course, he couldn’t answer Landon.

 

 “So you  _ do _ know about magic!” Landon exclaimed excitedly.  But then he frowned.  “You wouldn’t happen to be able to - well - speak, would you?”

 

Regretfully, Leander shook his head, looking mournful.

 

 “Hex.  That’s too bad.  It could really help with some of my other projects.  Oh!”  Landon lifted up his arm and showed Leander the odd looking crossbow, grinning widely.  “This wouldn’t have actually killed you.  It actually shoots nets.  Dulce - my older sister - she wanted to start a little menagerie -”

 

Leander was horrified at the idea, and his expression showed it.  As a human, he didn’t object to a menagerie, but as a lion - well, the last thing he wanted was to be locked up and put on display.

 

As if understand his thoughts, Landon laughed.  “Don’t worry - I don’t think she’ll put you in her menagerie if she knew you were intelligent.  Well - I hope.  Dulce  _ does _ like to get her way.  Anyhow, I’m also working on new style of metal pen to replace reed pens since those always break, self-lighting lanterns - and a lot of other things.  I could talk about it all day, but most people seem to find it annoying for some reason -” Landon trailed off and looked over at Leander.

 

 “So what’s your story?  Oh wait, I guess you can only answer yes or no questions.  Hm.  Are you from here?”

 

Leander nodded.

 

 “You are?  I’ve never seen you before.”  Landon frowned, his expression thoughtful.  “You came to me specifically.  Does that mean you know me?”

 

Leander nodded once more.

 

 “Did you hear about me because of my inventions?”

 

Leander raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

 

Landon frowned.  “Because I’m a prince?”

 

Leander shook his head again.

 

 “Hex!  How did you find out about me then?  I  _ know _ I’ve never seen you before.  I mean, a lion is already pretty memorable, but a lion that understand our language?  You’re a rarity!”

 

Leander had no idea how to respond to that.

 

 “There are so many questions I have to ask you - I just have to figure out how to phrase them.”  Landon’s expression became one of deep concentration.  He began to fire off a series of questions, and to Leander’s frustration, most of them related to the nature of magic itself.  It seemed that instead of trying to figure out  _ who _ Leander was, Landon wanted to know  _ how _ Leander even existed (as an intelligent lion) in the first place.

 

Eventually, Landon started to grow weary, and even Leander was yawning, though he had slept earlier in the day.

 

 “I suppose I ought to get to bed,” Landon mused.  He gave Leander a considering look.  “You can sleep here, for now.  I doubt the servants would be so understanding to see a lion roaming across the corridors.  Just - try not to touch anything, all right?  Some of my projects are rather delicate.  Good night, Sir Lion.  I’ll try and think of more questions to ask you tomorrow.”

  
And with that, Landon made his way towards his bedroom and climbed into bed.  Leander sighed.  It was strange, being in his own home, and having to sleep on furniture (or even the floor).  Still, he was relieved to finally be back in his home.  Hopefully, he would figure out a better way to communicate with Landon tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10

Leander had been a lion for enough time that waking up in his new body was no longer quite so bewildering.  What  _ was _ bewildering was waking up and realizing that he was no longer on the run.  Instead, he was surrounded by the familiar sandy stones of Daelyn, and the warm scent of his brother in the other room.

 

Some deep, primal part of Leander’s new body thought ‘ _ prey, _ ’ but the very idea horrified Leander, and he was besieged an intense feeling of nausea.  He shook his head, feeling ashamed of himself, and forced the idea from his mind.  Humans were  _ not _ prey.  Leander was a human, and nothing about his new body would convince him of otherwise.

 

Though Leander wanted to have the chance to loosen up his limbs and move, he knew that it would be unwise to leave his brother’s room - especially now that it was daytime, where servants and courtiers were sure to be about.  Instead, he decided to examine the projects that his brother was working on.  Landon certainly had a sharp mind for creating new things, and though Leander was tempted to touch some of the items, he knew better than to risk it with his clumsy paws.  Eventually he heard Landon stirring, and padded towards the entryway to his room.

 

After what felt like an endless stretch of time, Landon pulled his door open, and yelped when he saw Leander, leaping backwards.

 

 “Hex!  I thought that you had been a long, bizarre dream!” Landon uttered, running his hands through his unruly red-gold hair.  “What am I going to do with you?” He groaned.  “I can’t think of this right now.  My head feels like it’s filled with gravel.  I need to chew some Zipzel leaves before I can even think.”

 

Leander tilted his head.  Zipzel leaves were commonly chewed in Daelyn, but it was a rarity to find it in Mahalan.  The leaves had invigourating properties, and many citizens chewed on them for energy, or to feel more awake, but it was a habit that Leander had never started.  

 

 “You’re going to have to stay here, all right?”  He lifted his hand to his brow, squeezing his temples.  “Oh - I’m going to have to get you food too, aren’t I?  What do you eat?  Meat?”

 

Leander nodded eagerly.  If he were human, he would have had some sort of quip to reply to such an obvious question, but as it was, he was food-deprived and hungry.

 

 “All right.  I can manage that.  I can manage that,” Landon muttered groggily.  He threw a tunic over his wrinkled clothes, and stumbled out of his room.  Leander shook his head.  His brother had never been a morning person, but back when Leander lived in Daelyn, he usually saw Landon  _ after _ he had chewed some Zipzel leaves as they were sitting at the breakfast table.  Seeing this side of his brother was rather interesting.

 

Being stuck in a high tower as a lion was an unpleasant experience.  His body wanted food and the freedom to run; his mind wanted stimulation, and something interesting to focus on so that he didn’t get trapped in hopeless anxiety about his father.  He cursed his lack of hands.  Why couldn’t he have been changed into an animal with more manual dexterity?  Then he could at least have a greater sense of agency.  The fact that Landon did not seem distraught reassured him.  If Landon was calm, that meant that his father was probably all right, didn’t it?

 

He knew that what he really needed to do was to find a better way to communicate with Landon.  Attempting to communicate vocally wasn’t likely to work, unless he wanted to frighten his brother with growls.  He couldn’t hold a reed pen with his paws, but was there a way that he could write out letters with his paws themselves?  Perhaps he could use use his claws and scratch a message on the door or floor.  Landon likely wouldn’t appreciate it, but the matter seemed important.

 

When Landon finally returned, Leander smelled and heard him before he saw him.  The scent of meat made his mouth water and his stomach grumble, and when Landon opened his door, it took all of Leander’s self control not to leap at him, and tear the slab of fresh boar off his plate. 

 

 “I apologize for taking so long,” Landon intoned as he set down the plate of meat.  “You wouldn’t believe all the questions they asked me in the kitchens when I requested the meat.  They’ve convinced themselves that I’ve taken on a pet hound, and think it’ll do me a world of good to have some sort of contact.  Can you believe it?   _ Them.   _ Talking to  _ me _ like that.”  Landon made a frustrated noise.  “It’s like they all still think I’m ten, as opposed to eight-and-ten.”  Landon’s voice became higher pitched and mocking.  “‘Why don’t you spent more time at feasts, Prince Landon?’ ‘Why aren’t you courting any ladies, Prince Landon?’  ‘Why can’t you be as friendly as your older brothers, Prince Landon?’  It’s maddening!”

 

Leander attempted to make a sympathetic noise, but he was too busy scarfing down his food.  Landon flung himself down on one of his armchairs, and sighed, deeply, his head tilted back to stare up at the ceiling.

 

 “It must be freeing to be a lion - not having to deal with other people’s expectations,” Landon murmured.  “I often find myself wishing I had been born as someone else.  I may be a younger Prince, but there’s still so much  _ pressure _ .  If I had been the younger son of a noble - or perhaps even a merchant’s son, then people would probably be  _ happy _ that I was trying to invent things.”

 

Leander stopped mid-bite and looked up at his older brother, perplexed.  While he strongly disagreed that it was freeing to be a lion, he hadn’t realized how much the pressure of being a royal affected his brother.  When Landon was younger, he hadn’t cared this much - perhaps age had brought greater responsibilities.  It left Leander with a strange hollow feeling in his chest; he realized how much of his life he had missed when he had been a hostage at Mahalan.  

 

Unable to help himself, Leander padded up to his brother, and nudged his hand with with his head.  Landon looked down at him with surprise, and with a wobbly smile, he petted Leander’s forehead.  While on some level, it struck Leander as demeaning to be petted like some random dog, on a deeper level, Leander wanted to make his brother feel better, and to have physical contact with a family member he hadn’t seen in years.

 

But hunger still gnawed at Leander.  A week of journeying had not been gentle on his body, and he needed all the energy he could get.  He soon returned to his plate of meat, and before long, he finished everything he had been given (and in truth, it really hadn’t felt like enough.)  He was about to start lapping up the red juices on his plate, when he paused.  An idea had occurred to him.  Was there a way he could write a message using the meat juices?  As a human, the idea seemed a bit disgusting, but at least he wouldn’t have to resort to scratching out clumsy letters with his nails.

 

He lifted his paw, and drew an ‘L’ on the plate.  Against the silver platter, the ‘L’ was clearly visible, and Leander made a noise that sounded like a mix between a huff and a snarl to get his brother’s attention.

 

 “What is it?” Landon asked, startled by the noise and looking slightly nervous.  It made Leander aware of just how intimidating he must have seemed.  He tilted his nose towards the plate and indicated that Landon should look. 

 

 “Ah - all right.”  Landon hesitantly stood up and walked over to Leander’s side.  He looked down at the platter.  “Hrm.  Looks like an ‘L’”

 

Suddenly excited, Leander rumbled with satisfaction, and lifting his paws, he managed to draw what almost looked like an ‘E.’  It was crooked, and the arms of the letter were long and distorted, but he thought it still looked recognizable.

 

 “Oh!  Is that - wait -” Landon looked over at Leander, his eyes wide with disbelief.  “Are you trying to spell something out for me?”

 

Leander nodded, thankful that his brother understood.  He managed to draw out an ‘A’ next, though it was so distorted it almost looked like a misshapen ‘F.’  Plus, with each new letter, he had to draw it on top of the previous one, and the ‘A’ was barely legible.  Landon had to run through a series of letters before he even managed to guess the ‘A.’  That was followed by ‘N,’ and then ‘D’ before Landon was able to guess what Leander was trying to spell.

 

 “Leander?  Is that what you’re trying to write?  Leander?”

 

Leander nodded triumphantly.

 

 “What does this mean?  Do you know Leander?  Do you know my brother?  Has something happened to him?” Landon’s voice was become worried, and Leander had no idea how to answer the series of questions.  He made a noise that came out almost like a whine.

 

 “I apologize!  I -” Landon shook his head.  “All right.  One question at a time.  “Do you know Leander.”

 

Leander considered how he would answer the question.  Technically, he knew ‘Leander’ because Leander was himself, but nodding his head would almost imply that Leander was another person.  Instead, he just made a rumble in the back of his throat.

 

 “Ah - I have no idea what that means.  You  _ were _ trying to spell out Leander, correct?”

 

Leander nodded.

 

 “Hrm.  Wait!  Were you in Mahalan?”

 

Leander nodded.

 

 “So you saw Leander!”

 

Leander tilted his head, feeling frustrated by his lack of ability to express what he wanted to express.  He lifted his paw and tried to gesture to himself.

 

Landon blinked, trying to puzzle out Leander’s meaning.  “Wait -”  He started to shake his head.  “No - you’re not - are you trying to tell me that  _ you _ are Leander?”

 

Leander nodded, thankful that Landon finally understood.

 

Landon was still shaking his head.  “No - I can’t believe it - you?  Are you -” Landon seemed to have lost his fear of Leander, as he drew nearer, examining him as though wanting a hint of his brother.  “Can you really be Leander?  How is this even possible?”

 

Leander nodded again.

 

 “Magic - it’s magic isn’t it?”

 

Leander nodded, appreciating his brother’s sharp mind.

 

 “Holy deities -”  Landon was clearly shocked. “I - I need to sit down.”

 

Leander watched the expressions as they crossed his brother’s face.  His elbows were on his knees, and he had his head between his hands.  He looked like he was having a long and complicated debate with himself, and Leander wondered what he could be thinking about.  Landon kept shaking his head, and moving his mouth, as though silently forming words.  Eventually he sighed, and looked towards Leander.

 

Landon gave him a weak smile. “I don’t suppose you can prove you are Leander, could you?”

 

Leander gave him an uncertain look.

 

 “Hey - do you remember that time before you got taken away - when we put snakes in Adair’s soup?”

 

Leander raised his eyebrows.  He shook his head.  How could Landon remember that wrong?  It had been  _ frogs _ they put in their older brother’s soup.

 

 “Hrm.  Or that time we replaced Dulce’s poetry books with the floor plans of the castle, including all the underground sewage systems?”

 

Laughing as a lion felt weird, but somehow Leander managed it, nodding at the same time.

 

 “All right.  I believe you now.  I mean - I believe you’re Leander.  If you can remember what he remembered - oh Hex -” Landon shook his head.  “Leander - you’re a lion!  What happened?  Did the Emperor do this to you?  I’ll kill that slime-heart!”

 

Leander shook his head.  It wasn’t strictly true that the Emperor had turned him into a lion, but in a way, the Emperor was still responsible.  To express the truth would be too difficult.  He was just relieved that Landon knew who he was.  But now, the challenge was being able to express his concern for his father.  How did he ask Landon whether his father was all right?  He padded towards the door and began to scratch at it.

 

 “Hm?  You want to go out?  I - oh Hex, how is everyone going to react when they find out you’re a lion?  They won’t even believe it,” Landon moaned.  “They already think half my projects are insane.”

 

Leander stubbornly scratched at the door again.

 

 “Wait - is that why you came back?  To see everyone?”  Landon furrowed his brows, but then his eyes widened.  “Is this about father?  He was ill for a few days, but he has recovered - but I could see how word would get out about something like that.”

 

Hearing that his father wasn’t gravely ill caused Leander to sag with relief.  He still wanted to see his family, but at least he knew that the situation was not as dire as he had feared.  He nodded to let Landon know that he had been worried about their father.

 

 “If you really are Leander, it wouldn’t be fair to keep you from the family.”  Landon’s expression became pained.  “But they’re going to think I’ve gone insane - listen, would it be all right if I just said that you’re a lion I found and that I - ah - tamed you, or something?”

 

Leander gave his brother an incredulous look.  The idea of pretending to be some sort of pet was vaguely horrifying, and his pride rebelled against the notion.

 

 “Oh come!  Just this time!  Unless you’re willing to wait here while I try and convince them.”

 

Leander sighed.  He really didn’t want to be paraded about as some sort of ‘tame lion,’ and since his father wasn’t gravely ill, he decided he might as well wait.  He gave his brother a mildly aggravated look before nodding.

 

When Leander finally met up with the rest of his family, it wasn’t the experience he was expecting.  Landon had returned, looking simultaneously frustrated and sheepish, saying: “I tried to tell them and - well - they listened, but I could tell from their expressions that they didn’t believe me.” Of course, Leander had also never expected to be meeting up with them as a lion, but with his new form, he felt like he was meeting them as strangers.  On top of that, years had passed - his mother and father had visibly aged, with many more white hairs and wrinkles, while his elder siblings had married, adding new people to the family.

 

But even if the experience had been strange and a bit stilted, Leander was still glad to see his family.  They may have worn sceptical expressions as Landon introduced Leander to them, but it was evident that they were attempting to be welcoming.  It made him feel appreciative of his family.  With his sharp nose, he could smell the fear on some of them - especially his mother, and his brother’s wife - but it only made him determined to prove that he was no true lion.  And so, while the meeting wasn’t as Leander expected, it was still long awaited, and Leander felt the coiled knot within himself loosen as he realized he was finally home after all these years.

 

Life as a lion turned out to be surprisingly busy.  Out of all his siblings, Landon and Dulce were the most comfortable around him, and both of them were also the most convinced that Leander was who he claimed he was.  Dulce, his kind-hearted but bossy older sister, who had more free time than Landon, began to spend increasing amounts of time in the library researching or speaking to scholars, insistent on finding some clue as to how to return Leander to his former state.  

 

As for Leander, he spent his time trying to regain his human skills.  On some deep level, he hated having to pick things up with his mouth instead of his hands, or craving raw and uncooked meat instead of meat pastries, or bread and cheese.  A lion may have been a proud and regal creature, but Leander had no desire to be a  _ creature _ .  He wanted to be human.  Unfortunately for Leander, trying to be a human in a lion’s body was an endeavour doomed to failure.  Weeks of frustration passed before Leander realized he had to compromise between doing things in a lion-like way and a human-like way.

 

The only great pleasure that Leander learned to derive as a lion was his ability to run.  At times, he felt the same rush of joy once he learned to hunt and and take down prey, but while the chase was a mix of adrenaline and bliss, seeing a bloodied and mangled animal beneath him always brought him to his senses, and filled him with self-disgust and shame.  If he were just a lion, there would be nothing wrong with hunting, but as a human, how could he rend an animal apart with his teeth and claws, and find it so satisfying?

 

In Leander’s attempts to gain more autonomy and be more ‘human,’ time passed incredibly quickly.  His family and many of the servants and courtiers grew accustomed to seeing him wander the halls of the castle, and even his mother stopped fearing him when she saw how gentle Leander tried to be around everyone.  Despite being a lion, life was so much better in Daelyn than in Mahala palace, except for one thing: Aris.

 

Questions of what had become of Aris weighed on Leander’s mind.  Was she all right?  Did she think that he had abandoned her?  What would she think, knowing that he had turned into a lion?  He didn’t doubt for a moment that she would believe that he was who he was - not when she kept the company of rodents.  At least she had made a friend, even though Leander doubted what kind of friend Lady Dalia would be.  He wouldn’t have been able to bear it if Aris had been completely alone.

 

In his weaker moments, such as that long twilight before he went to bed, Leander would sometimes find himself envisioning her face.  Whenever he saw her in person, she always seemed so solemn and cold.  What would it take for him to make her smile and laugh?  In fact, what did she even look like with a smile?  The mystery of Aris’s fate marred his sense of peace.  It left a deep ache in his chest when thought of just how much he missed her.  But one thing kept him from going back.  Leander might have been learning to become more and more capable as a lion, but how could he really do anything to help her while he was in this form?  And week after week, Dulce would fill him with a sense of hope, proclaiming: “I think I found something that might help you, Lee!  Come with me - I don’t care if you’re in the middle of something!  Just come on!  I have to show you!” when in truth, it was almost always a false lead.  His sister meant well, and he knew that she was trying to help, but it was difficult to have his hopes raised and then dashed over and over again.

 

It was in this way that a year rapidly passed him by, and then more than half of another.  Leander still resented being a lion, but the resentment was a low and simmering feeling deep in his gut, rather than a roiling rage on the surface.  Aside from his body, and the absence of his best and dearest friend Aris, he felt some measure of peace at Daelyn.  Unfortunately for Leander, that peace would soon be shattered.


	11. Chapter 11

It was hard for Leander to believe that he was nearing seventeen years of age.  Where had all the time gone?  Perhaps it was because of his leonine body or perhaps it was because of the things he had experienced but he felt far older than his years.  And while his sister Dulce seemed to have the same inner fire when it came to finding a way to return him to his human form, his brother Landon seemed to be losing hope, focusing his efforts on his other projects (as well as trying to seek out a bride.)

 

Landon’s personal issues consumed a great deal of his attention, and at times, Leander found it tiring to listen to his brother complain about how all the ladies in court only wanted to use him to gain favour from their more handsome older brother.  As for Dulce, while he loved his older sister, Leander could only endure so much of her energetic and demanding company.

 

It was an overcast day, and Leander had just returned to the castle after a long and relaxing run in the grounds near the castle.  For a brief moment, he stalked and chased down a peahen, but in the end, he refrained from pouncing and killing the creature.  He was well fed within Daelyn, and there was no reason to kill any animals for food or sport.

 

He was returning to his chambers, which was a room near to Landon’s tower rather than his original set of rooms he had lived in as a prince.  The new room was conveniently located, so he could hardly complain, but initially, it had felt wrong to be staying in guest quarters when he had his own set of chambers.  As he padded across one of the large inner courtyards, he heard the familiar voice of his eldest brother’s wife.  She was in her rooms a floor above, but her voice carried across the courtyard.  From scenting the air, Leander could tell that she was speaking to his brother, her husband.  Their toddler was probably with its nursemaid, since that distinctive baby scent was missing, but it was typical for royal and noble children to be raised by nursemaids.

 

Though Leander had no intention of eavesdropping, he paused in his step when he heard his sister-in-law mention him.

 

 “I just don’t want that lion near my baby,” she insisted.

 

 “He’s never harmed anyone,” Leander’s brother, Adair, defended.  “And besides, Dulce and Landon are convinced that he’s Leander.”  Guessing from the way that his brother phrased the words, Leander gathered that Adair wasn’t convinced of Leander’s identity.  Though Leander knew that many of his family members doubted who he was, the idea still stung.  Usually, he tried his best not to think of it.

 

 “That’s just ridiculous,” she scoffed.  “I mean, to believe that a person could be a lion?  Why do you let them persist in spreading such madness, Adair?  You’re their senior - you should  _ tell _ them to stop spreading such blatant lies.  Can’t you see that it upsets your mother?”

 

The words felt like a shard of ice penetrating his heart.  What did his sister-in-law mean, by referencing his mother?

 

Adair sighed heavily.  “Yes, yes, I know.  Landon has always been an odd duck, but for Dulce to indulge such notions -” he paused, “- she always was very protective of all the younger ones.  Though she had nothing to do with Leander being taken hostage by the emperor, I believe she always felt terrible about it.  Still -”

 

 “You  _ need _ to get rid of that lion,” she stressed.  “True, he may act like a tame and well trained little pet now, but suppose he were to someday violently lash out.  What then?  What if it was our baby he hurt?  What if - what if he  _ ate _ our little darling?  Are you going to wait until someone gets hurt or - or killed, before acting?  I’m not suggesting killing the thing - just - send it away.  Sell it to the local theatre or band of wandering jugglers and acrobats who might like a trained beast.  It will only drive your mother to grief if she keeps seeing Dulce and Landon treat the lion as if it is one of her sons.  It’s just - just - hateful!”

 

 “I - you’re right, my treasure,” Adair conceded.  “Though we need not give it away - the lion seems to bring some measure of happiness to Dulce and Landon.  Suppose we were to convince Dulce to keep him caged in her menagerie?”

 

 “Yes, yes - I can tolerate the beast if it’s caged.  Oh, Adair - I just want to feel safe!”

 

 “I know, I know,” Adair soothed.  “I’ll take care of it.  I won’t let anyone hurt you, or our child.”  

 

 “Thank you!” Leander’s sister-in-law exclaimed followed by kissing noises.  At this point, Leander had heard enough.  He had grown complacent, upon returning to Daelyn.  He had willingly blinded himself to what was going on around him, but now, he knew that his sense of peace had all been an illusion.  And if all that was happening around him had been a self-inflicted lie, then what of Aris?  What kind of fate had he abandoned her to for a year in a half?

 

As though he had just been doused in an icy downpour of rain, the cold reality of his situation washed over him.  He had to leave.  He couldn’t stay here in Daelyn where he would be, at best, locked up by his well-intentioned eldest brother.  Leander knew that he had to leave.  But it felt wrong to simply run away without at least informing Landon and Dulce, who had done so much for him.

 

Fortunately, in the year and a half that Leander had stayed at Daelyn’s castle, his siblings had devised a way for him to communicate short messages.  Landon had tried to invent a pen that Leander could easily hold in his mouth, or one that could be attached to his paw with a strap - but these systems were inconvenient, since Leander couldn’t even attach the strap onto himself.  However, Dulce had the simple idea of using a sandbox, which Leander could easily write short messages in with his paws.  Of course, he had to learn to write in shorthand, since he did not have the manual dexterity of a human, but it was still effective.

 

In the end, all he could really say was:  _ I must leave.  Thank you for all you’ve done for me.  I’m sorry. _  He couldn’t claim that he would return since he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to return to his human form.  And he didn’t have the space to explain what he had overheard Adair and his wife saying.  It would hurt Landon and Dulce - especially Dulce - but Leander felt that he had no choice.

 

Since the residents of Daelyn were accustomed to the sight of a lion in the castle, it was easy enough for Leander to simply leave.  As a lion, it wasn’t as if he needed to pack a bundle of clothes, or to bring coin - who would even take coin from a lion?  And though Leander hated to have to succumb to his animalistic nature, he knew he was capable of hunting for his own food.  The more complicated question was, how would he get back into Mahala Palace to find Aris?  Leander supposed he could worry about such things at a later time, when he was closer to the emperor’s city.

 

The journey from Daelyn to Mahalan was much easier than the trek from Mahalan to Daelyn.  By this time, Leander was accustomed to his form, and he made sure to stop to eat and drink.  If he was to help Aris in any way, he needed to have his strength.

 

Living in Daelyn, he was used to being around people who accepted his leonine form, but knowing that he was no longer within the safety of his own home, he had to remember to stay away from all humans.  It was lonelier than he had expected.  In Daelyn, he had Landon and Dulce’s welcoming company every day, and even if they sometimes prattled about inconsequential things, it was still comforting.  Now, he was left with only his own thoughts, and his thoughts were painful things.  Had his presence as a lion really hurt his mother’s feelings?  Had his family feared him all along?  Would he ever be able to return to his home?  And then there was Aris.  Did she still care for him?  What if she hated him for leaving without word?  Hopefully, when he found her, he would have a chance to explain.

 

As Leander neared Mahalan city, he started to mentally plan how he would enter the palace.  Much like he did in Daelyn, it would be safer under the cover of night.  But unlike his previous journey, this time he wasn’t burnt out from exhaustion.  He decided it would be best to scout the area, and if he was lucky, perhaps he would come across some news of information that could be of use.

 

Most of the conversation that he heard on the outskirts of the city were trivial matters that did not interest him: food prices, sales of various wares, domestic arguments, and petty gossip.  Occasionally, there would be a snippet of news related to the nobles - especially if the story was particularly salacious, such as one nobleman’s son who had gotten four different women pregnant, and not all of them women of low birth.  Knowing how quiet and solemn Aris’s public demeanour could be, Leander didn’t expect to hear any word about her.

 

It was a surprise then, when Leander happened to hear a conversation between two washerwomen that could only have been about Aris.

 

 “It must’ve been the deities punishment, it must’ve,” one woman firmly declared.

 

Leander would have continued passed, if not for the words he heard from the other woman.

 

 “Seers an’ Oracles an’ the like have always been watched over by the deities.  But so too is the great emperor, and what that Seer did surely enraged the emperor - attacking a noble like that.  ‘Tis no wonder she up and disappeared, even if her attack was a holy retribution.”

 

Leander frowned.  What in the world were they talking about?  Deities, and attacks and retribution?  Had something happened to Aris?

 

 “They say the noble’ll likely pull through - they were worried about it for a few days.  Thought the Seer might’ve gone and killed ‘im.”

 

 “And they haven’t found her yet?” the other woman asked.  “Sounds t’ me like the deities have gone and whisked her away.  My da always said that magic folks and the like were only half o’ this world.  Th’ other half communes with the deities, directly.”

 

 “True that,” the first woman agreed.  “The Seer should have gone to one of our temples though.  The common folk could surely use a good oracle.  I’d like to know if my Erland will live t’ see twenty.  He was sickly as a babe, but managed to pull through by a hair.  I’m just not sure about that one.”

 

 “Ah, same as my uncle then - he was a sickly babe, but look at him now!  Hale and hearty, and near fifty, he is!”

 

To Leander’s frustration, the conversation turned to inconsequential gossip, and Leander gleaned no more information about what might have happened to Aris.  Nonetheless, what he heard made him sick with worry.  It sounded like something serious had potentially happened to Aris - did the news mean that she was no longer even in Mahalan?  And if so, where would she have gone?  Still, Leander knew he had to sneak into Mahala Palace to check.  It wouldn’t have made sense to put too much stock in the gossip between two washerwomen.

 

Because he was now comfortable with making use of his sharp senses, sneaking into Mahala Palace was much easier than Leander had anticipated.  He could easily smell the presence of nearby humans, and did not have to see them to avoid them.  He had gained a body consciousness from the tip of his nose to the the end of his long tail, and knew better than to accidentally reveal any part of himself.  And with his high jump, there was no need to try and sneak through the front gates.  

 

The first thing he noticed was that he couldn’t catch Aris’s scent anywhere.  It once again struck him as odd that he even knew what her scent was, and perhaps some subconscious part of his human mind had registered it long ago.  He climbed up the stairs and found the window alcove where she used to sit and read to her rats.  There, the scent of Aris was stronger, but it was still faint and old.  He couldn’t smell any rats or mice either.

 

Using his nose, he was able to track down the location of her chambers.  But as he neared it, he could already tell that she wasn’t there.  Whether the washerwomen in Mahalan were talking about Aris or not, it was clear: she was gone.

 

The realization left a sick feeling in Leander’s gut.  What could have happened to her?  How long ago did she leave?  Perhaps if he was lucky, there might be some faint trace of her scent in the city.  Leander quickly left Mahala Palace with much more carelessness in his exit than his entrance.  Within the city itself, he was overwhelmed with smells.  His instincts paid most attention to the scent of the living, which some deep and animalistic part of himself wanted to call ‘prey.’  But he managed to ignore it.  

 

Twice, he was nearly caught by night watchmen, but fortunately, the sight of a lion was so odd that one of them thought he had been hallucination, due to drinking too much on the job.  However, the second one pulled out his weapon and gave chase.  Leander was agile enough to lose him as he wove through the alleyways of the city; however, it look longer than he would have liked - after all, the night watchman knew the streets of Mahalan well, whereas Leander did not.

 

Leander searched Mahalan for almost the entire night.  But if Aris was still in the city, Leander couldn’t seem to find her.  Would she had fled farther?  He couldn’t imagine that Aris would feel much safer and freer in Mahalan than she did in Mahala Palace.  Yet, if she had left the city, would she be able to survive on her own?  The thought of her survival caused a terrible chill to ripple down his spine.  He refused to think that she might have been hurt or even killed.  He would never be able to forgive himself if something that bad had happened to her.

 

When Leander began to hear the bustle of people waking up, that was when he knew it was time to leave.  There was no way that he could navigate a busy city during the day - not as a lion.  But there was still something he could do.  He could try and find her scent outside the city.  If Aris had left Mahalan, surely he could find some trace of it, and have some thread of hope.  To be back in the metropolis of Mahalan only to lose her was more than he could bear.

 

The area outside of the city was much more open and bare, and Leander often had to creep low to avoid being seen.  He was fast and intelligent, but that didn’t mean that he would be able to outrun any arrows that were shot at him.  Exhaustion tugged at the corner of his mind, but a feeling of adrenaline kept him going.  He thought that it would be more likely that he would find a trace of her scent on one of the main roads, but although it was early, travellers, and merchants with their caravans were already out and about.

 

Leander was close to giving up for the day.  He knew he needed food and rest if he wanted the energy to keep going, but the thought of having no hint of Aris was like a thorn in his paw.  He  _ had _ to find her.

 

It was a stroke of luck then, that as he passed by a thicket of shrubs, he caught sight of a scrap of greyish-blue fabric.  As he sniffed the material, he realized that it had belonged to Aris.  Filled with a renewed sense of excitement, he searched the nearby area, but to his dismay, there was no other trace of his friend.  He realized that it must have rained in the previous days if every hint of her scent was gone.  It would make his search for her much more difficult.  But at least he knew that she had left the city.  He didn’t know where he would begin.  All he knew was that he would find her.


	12. Chapter 12

Aristandra wearily trudged across the countryside, thinking no further than placing one foot in front of the other, and knowing that she could not continue at her pace for much longer.  Her feet were aching and bleeding, since the soft slippers that suited the polished floors of the palace could not endure the harsh terrain beyond the stone walls.  Her delicate clothes were torn and dirtied, and it was only a threadbare and stolen blanket wrapped around her shoulders that offered any protection from the elements.

 

Since leaving Mahala Palace, she had been living on a day to day basis, knowing that every moment of future was uncertain.  Perhaps if she had had a chance to prepare before leaving Mahala Palace, she would not be in such dire straits.  But the circumstances of her departure had been so unexpected and terrible that there had been no time to prepare.  Her life had been at stake, and instead of remaining in the familiar, loathsome surroundings that she had known all her life, she had chosen to flee instead.

 

In the past two week, she had managed to come across a farmstead where the simple and generous inhabitants had been willing to take her in without asking too many questions.  For Aristandra, it had been a small reprieve, but she had never been able to truly relax, knowing that the emperor’s reach was a wide one.  However, that small moment of peace had quickly been shattered.  At sixteen years old, Aristandra was increasingly aware of the effect that her appearance had on others.  As she grew and matured, she started to notice the looks that she received: hungry, predatory looks that made her feel like a wounded gazelle surrounded by ravenous crocodiles.  Perhaps if she had been a noble or royal, she would have delighted in the attention, but as a young Seer who was little better than a valued slave, she felt powerless.

 

When the old farmer had attempted to molest her behind his own wife’s back, it was then that Aristandra knew she had to flee.  She had been aware of the farmer’s leering gaze, but she had brushed it off, hoping that the presence of his wife would still his hand.  It had shattered what little faith she had in humanity when the old man had still attempted to grope her as she had been drawing water from the well to aid the couple.  With all her strength, she shoved the farmer away from her, and because she had no belongings to her name, there was nothing for her to collect, and she simply ran.  Unfortunately for Aristandra, she knew little of the surrounding area, beyond what she had read in books.  There was nowhere for her to go.

 

Since her escape from the farmer’s lecherous grasping, Aristandra had chosen to avoid human contact.  Her experiences had been far too negative, and she was afraid of trusting others, and becoming dependent on them.  Unfortunately, as little more than a teenage girl with prophetic dreams, she did not have the skills or resources to survive on her own.  All of her former dreams of escape had involved employment or at least other people who might find value in her education.  She was able to forage for bits food, recognizing edible plants and fruits thanks to her reading, but she could not hunt, nor did she have the adroitness to enable her to effectively steal.  The moment she had left the palace, with no real plan or connections to aid her, was like turning the hourglass that would count down the last moments of her life.

 

As Aristandra stumbled along, occasionally resting her weight against the trunk of the few trees that disrupted the rolling undulations of the landscape, she wondered how she could continue on.  Where was she trying to go?  She was vaguely aware that if she kept going, she might eventually make it to a town or village where she could attempt to start a new life.  But did she have the strength?  As sheltered as she was, life had never been easy.  And when her friend Lee had disappeared, that had been one of the greatest blows that she had suffered.  That was ages ago, and it still made her chest tighten painfully to even think of it.  She felt a thick lump rising in her throat, and viciously forced all thoughts of Lee from her mind.  Combined with the utter exhaustion that weighed down her body, and the sores and wounds on her hands and feet, it was just too much.

 

Aristandra tripped and stumbled, falling and scraping her knees.  She winced, squeezing her eyes shut, while reminding herself that she needed to get up and keep going.  And yet, she was so very tired, and having the ground supporting her weight seemed so easy.  A bone-weary sigh escaped her lips, and she found herself lying down.  Surely, a short rest would be reasonable.  Perhaps she would have more energy if she could close her eyes for a bit.

 

Aristandra could not tell if only a second had passed or if it had been hours.  The sun seemed to have moved much farther to the west, and yet, she was sure she had only closed her eyes for the briefest of moments.  As the mistiness cleared from her eyes, she suddenly had a sense that she was not alone.  Though her heartbeats increased their pace, her blood felt like sludge in her veins.  It was as though she barely had the strength to even fear.  She turned her head slightly to catch sight of whomever intended to accost her.  But when her eyes fell upon a set of golden-coloured eyes, she realized that the person who had trespassed upon her space was no ‘person’ at all.  It was a lion.

 

Under any other circumstances, Aristandra would have attempted to fight for her life.  But her recent travelling had drained her.  To even stand up again felt like an insurmountable task.

 

 “Is this the end then?” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.  She sighed once again, and her eyelids fluttered shut.  She wasn’t ready to die, but she would rather die at the paws of a beautiful and noble lion, than live to ninety in the emperor’s luxurious cage.  Her consciousness faded once again.  If this was the end, it was a peaceful one.

 

-o-

 

When Aristandra next awoke, it was to a sense of profound disorientation.  She did not think: ‘ _ Am I dead _ ?’  There were too many points of pain all over her body for her to believe that she had died.  It was the also the pain that convinced her she wasn’t dreaming.  But there was more than just pain - there was warmth, softness and comfort as well, especially against the front of her body.  And more than that - there was an animalistic scent in the air, that vaguely reminded her of the stables.  Was she in some sort of barn?

 

As she peeled her eyes open, and adjusted to the middling light, she found herself staring at a yellowish coloured mass of fur.  A pillow?  No, as she blinked, and became aware of how warm the fur was, she realized it wasn’t an inanimate object.  It was a creature.  The creature shifted, and Aristandra was embarrassed when a whimper fell from her lips as cold air ghosted across her skin.  The majestic face of a lion peered down at her, with a look that Aristandra thought was concern.  But could it be?  

 

The moment was so surreal that Aristandra was starting to believe that it was a dream after all, pain or no pain.  There was no time to think or to plot an escape.  All she could do was stare back, wide-eyed, at the lion which was staring down at her.  But something registered in Aristandra’s mind.  She had spent far too long watching both animals and people, to be oblivious to the intelligence in the large cat’s eyes.  As fuzzy as her mind was, she knew that she was facing no ordinary lion.

 

The idea snapped her out of the odd staring contest she had been having with the creature, and she began to examine her surroundings.  She appeared to be in some sort of cavern, but instead of resting upon a rocky floor, she was lying upon some sort of coarse blanket, such as one that would be used to cover a horse.

 

She looked back towards the lion, who still seemed to be examining her with concern.

 

 “Did - did you bring me here?” she asked.

 

The lion blinked, as if surprised to have been asked the question,  But then it nodded.  Then, it motioned towards something behind her.  Aristandra gingerly sat up, whimpering from the pain of the effort, and her eyes widened when she noticed a clay jug filled with water, and a piece of cheese.

 

She looked back towards the lion.  “Is that - for me?”

 

The lion nodded again.  Aristandra did not need to ask a second time.  She quickly grabbed the jug, and as the cool water slid down her throat, she thought it was the most glorious thing she had ever experienced.  Once she had her fill of water, she reached for the cheese.  Having not eaten for days, Aristandra could scarcely stomach the rich food.  It tasted like bliss, but felt like rocks in her stomach. She was unable to finish it all, and set it down.  Once she was sated, she returned her attention to the lion.  When she had been sleeping, it had been pressed against her, but now that she had awoken, it had moved a respectful distance away, and was sitting and watching her like a concerned guardian.

 

 “You saved me,” Aristandra murmured.  “Thank you.”

 

The lion seemed surprised and embarrassed by the sentiment, looking away as if he could not meet her eyes.  The gesture was oddly endearing, and Aristandra felt a warmth suffusing her heart.  It had always been easier to like animals than humans, though in this case, the lion could possibly be both.

 

 “Can you speak?” she queried.

 

The lion shook his head.  

 

Aristandra hummed.  “I thought not.  That’s all right.  I’m - I’m accustomed to speaking to those who can’t speak back to me.”  A heavy sadness passed across her thoughts as she thought of Russus and Felix.  The lion, who had noticed her melancholy expression, moved closer towards her.

 

Aristandra sighed and shook her head.  “It’s - it’s in the past now.  I suppose I should consider what to do now in the present.”  She shifted her position, attempting to to straighten up, but the effort was too much.  All she wanted was to lie down again.  But how could she lie about like a useless lump while letting a lion take care of her?  The lion moved closer, looking even more concerned, and Aristandra smiled weakly, embarrassed by her helplessness.

 

 “You don’t have to help me.  You’ve already done so much.  But I do appreciate it, truly.  I’ve always found animals to be so much kinder than people.” Aristandra paused, staring up at the lion once again.  “Did you used to be human?”

 

The lion nodded. 

 

 “I thought as much.”  She knit her brows.  “You didn’t choose to be a lion, did you?  The others I met were usually much - smaller.”

 

The lion shook his head, scrunching up his face as though the notion of choosing to be a lion was too ridiculous to have been mentioned.

 

 “I didn’t mean to offend -”

 

The lion made a noise in the back of his throat, and it was clear to Aristandra that he hadn’t been offended.  She found herself growing increasingly curious about the lion.  Of course, a human turned into a lion was already a curious thing, but after losing Lee, Russus and Felix, she had closed away a large part of her heart, and wasn’t quite ready to open it again.  But being curious didn’t mean that she had to open her heart.  And besides, the lion had saved her life.

 

Aristandra’s gaze became distant.  “I know of a way to cure you of your condition.  That is -” she returned her attention to the lion, “- I don’t actually have a cure on hand.  But - I do know of one.  I would gladly help you since you saved my life.”  She gave the lion a tired smile.  “Though perhaps if I rest a little longer -” Her eyelids drifted shut, and she she felt something pressing against her shoulder.  When she opened her eyes again, the lion was nudging her down with his paw, as if motioning her to lie down and sleep.  She didn’t have the will to protest.  Instead, she closed her eyes once again, and a heartbeat later, she was asleep.

 

-o-

 

In the days that followed, Aristandra slowly recovered her strength, but it was a maddeningly slow process.  The lion was unfailingly kind and patient with her, but after the emotional hurts she had suffered, Aristandra was guarded and quiet, speaking to the lion only of trivial things such as food or the weather.  Though Aristandra was quiet with the lion, she did not mistrust him.  It was hard to mistrust a being that was so thoughtful and gentle, and gradually, Aristandra was able to relax around him.

 

As she recuperated, she was able to communicate the process involved in turning the lion back into a human, but it would be no easy feat, and required a number of rare ingredients, as well as a ritual that Aristandra had never attempted to perform.  But she was growing increasingly curious about the lion, and wanted to learn more about him, beginning with his name.

 

 “I can’t just keep calling you, ‘You,’” she told the majestic creature.  “I’m going to try and guess your name.”

 

The lion nodded in agreement.  A look of concentration came over Aristandra’s face as she examined the lion.  He truly was a beautiful creature, and she couldn’t imagine him having a common or ordinary sort of name.

 

 “Lex?” she guessed.  The lion shook his head.

 

 “Auric?”  That was yet another negative.  She went through a list of names, but it wasn’t until she got to Lukas that the lion began to perk up.

 

Aristandra hummed.  “Your name begins with an ‘L,’ doesn’t it.” A melancholy feeling came over her, and the thickening knot in her throat made it hard to breath.  “I knew a ‘Lee’ once,” she murmured softly and sadly, so that the lion had to lean forwards to hear her.  “He - he had been like a brother to me.  But then he left.  It hurt - so much.  But, I could accept it.  It was the fact that he never wrote - never tried to contact me - never came back - that was far worse.”  She shook her head and a weak and miserable laugh escaped her lips.  “I suppose that has nothing to do with you - I’m apologize for burdening you with my problems.  Your name begins with an ‘L’ - Lyrus?”

 

The lion shook his head, but at this point, he was wearing an odd expression that Aristandra could not decipher.  He looked almost upset or even disturbed and panicked, but why would he be?  But then the look vanished, and Aristandra was able to convince herself that she was probably misreading the situation due to her emotional state.

 

 “Loki?”  she guessed.  “You don’t look like you could be a Loki.”  The lion scrunched up his face as if to say ‘No, definitely not Loki.’

 

Aristandra gave him an understanding smile, her emotions calming as she pushed thoughts of Lee from her mind.

 

 “Oh!  Could you be - hm -” she tilted her head.  “What about Leo?”

 

Once again, there was an odd and unreadable look on the lion’s face - this time, almost like he was debating something.  But then he finally nodded.

 

 “Leo?” she repeated.  “Your name is Leo?”  She broke into a wider smile, pleased that she finally had something to call the lion.  It was curious that the name ‘Leo’ was so close to ‘Lee’ but then again, ‘Leo’ was a particularly fitting name for a lion.  For a flickering second, she wondered if the lion could possibly be Lee.  But she quickly rejected the notion.  The Lee that she had known wouldn’t have left her for nearly two years, lion or no lion.  In fact, Lee was the only person in Mahala Palace who knew that Aristandra considered some animals to be people.  If Lee had been turned into an animal, whether a rat or a lion, surely he would have come to her first, knowing that she would believe him.  If Lee were an animal, she would have done anything and everything to help him.  The thoughts were becoming too painful yet again, and this time, she forcefully ejected them from her mind, biting down on her lower lip and reminding herself to breath deeply.  She looked towards Leo, who was now giving her a concerned look, and she gave him a wobbly smile.

 

 “I’m sorry, Leo.  Don’t - don’t mind me.  I suppose some part of me is - caught in the past.  But it’s more important to look forward, isn’t it?”

 

Leo gave her a dubious look.  

 

 “I wish I were stronger,” she sighed, looking down at her slowly healing hands.  “I could help you sooner if I recovered my strength.  And if I had proper clothes.” She peered back at Leo.  “Unfortunately I’ve - well, lived a very sheltered life.  I may have found the way to turn you back into a human, but I haven’t a clue how we might find all the materials.  I’ve only read about them  What about you?  Have you ever seen a Mystclear flower?  I read that it grows in the eastern reaches of the empire.  Or Ember Vine?  And where might we find a geode?”

 

Leo appeared uncertain, but then a look of determination crossed his face, and it was clear what he was thinking.

 

Aristandra nodded.  “We’ll find what we need.”  A troubled feeling momentarily came over her.  “I think I mentioned before, but I’ve never actually had the chance to try this cure.  But -” a dark look crossed her face, “- the source this came from is knowledgeable in these matters.  I don’t doubt the methods.  But still, I can’t promise anything.”

 

Leo knit his brows, but then he gave her a nod, as if to say: ‘I understand.’

  
Despite Aristandra’s tiredness and the recent trials she had faced, a new sense of optimism lifted her heart.  She had successful fled the halls of Mahala Palace, and while the last thing she could have expected was to owe a life debt to a lion, at least she knew how she could repay him.  It was the closest she had ever been to freedom.  And while she had the aid of Leo finding her food and water, it meant that she had time: time to adjust to the outside world, time to mend the wounds on her body and her heart, and time to live her own life.


	13. Chapter 13

Aristandra gradually recovered enough to begin leaving the confines of the cavern, and while she was able to contribute more of her efforts, it was Leo who still bore the burden of keeping them alive.  After she had mentioned needing new clothes, she woke up to a set of ‘new’ garments and shoes a few days later.  The material was coarse, and unlike anything she had ever worn while she lived in the palace, but it was warm and sturdy.  The shoes had hurt her feet at first (especially since they were still healing), but callouses soon developed and she adjusted.

 

As her sleep became more settled, she continued to have prophetic dreams.  But for Aristandra, it was a relief to no longer have to memorize each detail and write them down.  Still, Aristandra noticed that her dreams were changing.  It was difficult to define the change, since all the prophecies were symbolic and abstract, but the dreams had taken on a different quality.  They sometimes felt more subdued, almost less important, and Aristandra wondered if her dreams were affected by her location.  Perhaps, she dreamed of so many strange and bizarre things while living in Mahala Palace, because she was surrounded by so many people to dream about.  Here, in the barren cavern where she lived with Leo, life had taken on a quieter feeling.

 

Aristandra was also aware of how perceptive Leo was.  The lion was vastly different in nature from Russus and Felix, and Aristandra had feeling that as a human, Leo must have had a sharp mind.  Though Aristandra was now accustomed to Leo’s presence, his intelligence kept her feeling off-balance.  It wasn’t that she was intimidated - after all, she spent most of her time around clerics and the mage.  But Aristandra wasn’t as open as she had been as a younger girl, and she didn’t know if she could open up around Leo.  He had saved her life, but Aristandra had been hurt too many times to let down her defenses so easily.  To make matters more unsettling, she had a feeling that Leo  _ knew _ something.  She just didn't know what.

 

Aristandra was close to returning to full health, which meant planning how she and Leo could find the ingredients they needed for the ritual to make Leo human again.  The task kept her preoccupied so that she didn't have to dwell on the pain she felt, and for that, she was grateful.  And talking to Leo about their future plans meant that Aristandra didn’t need to talk about herself.  She didn’t feel ready to discuss her past, and the idea of exposing herself, and possibly crying in front of the keen-eyed lion felt like too much to bear.

 

Her life was taking on some semblance of normality, or if not that, then at least a routine.  With no one expecting her to report her dreams, it was easy to forget who she was, and to believe that it wasn’t important.  But while Aristandra’s dreams no longer became a burden that chained her to a life of gilded slavery, it was her dreams that eventually triggered the memories she had been trying to repress.

 

The dream itself wasn’t particularly unusual.  A worm was eating its way through an apple, leaving a trail of rot in its wake. But the overall feeling of the dream was one of shock, dismay and helplessness.  As Aristandra slowly awoke and the tendrils of fog cleared from her mind, the image was soon forgotten, but the terrible feeling persisted, and with it, the memories she hadn’t wanted to face.  A whimper escaped her lips, and embarrassed, she covered her mouth with her hands, aware of the thick lump in her throat, and the shallowness of her breaths.  She had thought that Leo was asleep, but then the lion shifted, and looked at her with obvious concern in his amber eyes.  Leo was ordinarily very careful about touching Aristandra, as if vividly aware of the fact that it was inappropriate to violate a young lady’s boundaries, but upon seeing her expression, he moved closer, and gently nudged the side of her arm, as if to show his empathy.

 

 “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Aristandra said in a guilty half-whisper, propping herself up into a sitting position.

 

Leo shook his head, as if to say it wasn’t her fault.  He nudged her again, and Aristandra had the feeling that Leo wanted to know her thoughts.  She gave the lion an uncertain look, wondering if she dared to expose the dark corners of her heart.  Perhaps it was because it was early morning, and she felt more vulnerable than usual, but whatever the reason, Aristandra found the words starting to spill out of her mouth.

 

 “I had a dream - and it reminded me of Russus and Felix.  They were like you - no, not lions, but they were humans trapped in the bodies of animals.  A rat and a mouse.”  Aristandra sighed, as she remembered their small rodent faces.  “I suppose this isn’t the best place to begin.”  She bit down her lower lip.  “I know I never mentioned this before but - I used to live in Mahala Palace.  I wasn’t a noble nor a servant.  I - I was a Seer for the Emperor.” 

 

As Aristandra shared her past, she told him of the loneliness and alienation she felt.  She glossed over what had happened with Prince Septimus, only mentioning that it had caused everyone to fear her.  She told him of how she originally found Russus, and then Felix, and how she used to read to them, even if it bored them to sleep.  A wobbly smile crossed her face as recalled the memories, but those memories reminded her too much of Lee, and the smile faded.

 

 “We spent most of our time on a hidden window ledge on the upper floors of the palace.  Next to the ledge was a room, meant for mostly nobles.  Though I’m not entirely sure since I’ve never entered those rooms before.”  She knit her brows.  “The person staying in those rooms -  I, well, I’ve heard his voice since we used to speak.  He told me his name was Lee.  But -” she shook her head and stared down at her lap, “I never actually met him.  And I know that wasn’t his real name.  I’ve never seen his face.  I only heard his voice when he spoke to me from his window.  He was -” she cut herself off.  “I suppose this part of the story doesn’t matter.”

 

Because she was staring down at her lap, Aristandra failed to see Leo’s expression.  She was too caught up in the past, that world around her seemed to have faded so that only memories remained.

 

 “Lee -” she halted, but managed to force the words out.  “Lee eventually left, and someone else moved into those rooms.  I don’t know who they were - and I suppose, at the time, I didn’t care.  But I should have.  After Lee left, I -” she felt her eyes sting, and paused.  “I apologise, Leo.  It seems silly to let the past weigh on me so heavily, especially when it was ages ago.  Some time after Lee left, and before the other person moved into those rooms, Russus, Felix and I conceived an idea to sneak into the mage's room.” A small smiled pulled at her lips.  “Even then, it was an insane idea.  Russus was the one who actually sneaked in there while Felix and I kept a lookout.  I am still remember how loud my heart beats sounded.  It was like they were pounding in my ear.”

 

 “At one point, a there were footsteps coming our way.  I was terrified it was going to be the mage, and I was so close to calling out to Russus to run away.  It turned out to just be a cleric - though he did give me an odd look for loitering about in the corridor.”  She laughed weakly.  “In retrospect, I wonder if he was as afraid of me as I was of him.  Perhaps he thought I had prophesied something.  Anyway, after what felt like a lifetime of searching, Russus eventually found the spell that would return someone to human form.  We were so happy that day.” She gave Leo a mischievous grin.  “I even went down to the kitchens and stole the desserts that they usually only reserve for the highest nobles.”

 

Seeing Leo’s surprised expression, Aristandra laughed, more genuinely this time. 

 

 “I don’t usually steal - worry not.”

 

Leo shook his head, as if to say he wasn’t worried or perhaps didn’t care.  And besides, Aristandra suspected that Leo stole the food and clothing that he brought her.  Why would he judge her for stealing?

 

Aristandra’s smile turned wistful.  “It felt amazing, being able to steal that ritual from the mage.  If you knew how horrible he was, you’d understand.  I thought, perhaps, things would get better.  It was as though, by taking that ritual, I had proved to myself that I could handle the things that life might throw at me.  But - I was wrong.”

 

 “Sometime after we stole the ritual (and I had spent a great deal of time in the library researching the components), that new person moved into Lee’s old rooms.  I didn’t think anything of it at the time.  But I wish I had been paying more attention.” Her voice became increasingly flat and emotionless as she related what happened. “Russus and Felix seemed to be growing more restless, but at the time, I couldn’t understand why.  I thought, perhaps, they wanted to spend more time with me.  They did seem to calm down when I was around.  I should have noticed something was wrong.  I hate how blind I had been.  I thought I was the sort of person who paid attention to details - who observed things.  And yet -” Aristandra trailed off.

 

Leo gave her yet another gentle nudge, and when Aristandra looked towards him, there was a look of understanding in his eyes.  Aristandra didn’t know if she was just seeing what she wanted to see, but the lion’s calm understanding helped to lighten the weight upon her heart.

 

 “I -” Aristandra felt a thickening lump in her throat.  “After lessons one day, I went up to the ledge, as usual.  I had brought Russus and Felix some cheese and tarts, and I was going to read to them a book about the cultivation and proper collection of herbs.”  She laughed pitifully.  “I know - it sounds terribly dry.  L - Lee would have made fun of me for it.  But - but since we were working on understanding how to cure Russus’s and Felix’s conditions, we needed more information.  But, when I got there, both Russus and Felix were gone, and the bedding I gave them was all mussed up, with bits of hair everywhere. I spent the rest of the day searching the palace for them, and the day after that.  I kept returning to the ledge, thinking that they would be back, but they never returned.  I couldn't figure out what had happened.  I returned to the ledge regularly, in hopes that I would find out something about Russus and Felix, but also because it's a good spot to be alone and read or think.  And one day, I heard a meowing sound.”  She paused.  “It turned out that the person who had moved into Lee's room had brought a cat - and the cat -” she felt herself choking up again, and her eyes stung with wetness.  “I think the cat killed Russus and Felix.  The cat killed my friends.”

 

At this point, tears were streaming down her face.  The memory of that moment impacted her like the weight of a falling boulder.  While her friendship with Russus and Felix had been nothing like her friendship with Lee, the two rodents had still been with her for so long, and they had been through so much.  Aristandra felt a softness against her cheek, and through her tears, she realized that Leo was trying to comfort her. 

 

Though some part of her realized that Leo was a human, seeing the lion before her removed any sense of awkwardness.  Her need for comfort was too great, and she found herself wrapping her arms around Leo, and crying into his thick mane.  But Leo didn’t growl, push her away, or do anything to make her uncomfortable.  He seemed to take as much comfort in the closeness as Aristandra did.

 

Eventually, Aristandra’s tears subsided, and she pulled away from Leo, rubbing her eyes, and flushing with embarrassment.

 

 “I - I’m sorry,” she apologized.  “I don’t know what came over me.  You’re -” she gave him a tremulous smile, “you’re very kind to listen to me.”

 

Leo made a sound that was almost like a huff, and his expression said: ‘I can’t believe you're apologizing.’

 

Aristandra laughed self-consciously.  “You must think I’m ridiculous.”

 

Leo paused, glancing upwards in a way that suggested that he was thinking.  But then, he returned his gaze to her, and then gave a quick and firm nod.  It was so unexpected that Aristandra laughed again, more genuinely this time.

 

 “You - you almost remind me of Lee -” her smile faded, and she shook her head. “But that’s silly.”  She returned her gaze to Leo.  “Besides, you’ve given me your name and it isn’t Lee.”

 

An uncertain look crossed Leo’s face.  But then he nodded.

 

 “It doesn’t matter anyway.”  Aristandra smiled ruefully, looking endearing with her slightly puffy and red eyes.  “You are who you are, and I’m happy to have met you, Leo.”

 

Leo’s expression was more serious as he nodded, and Aristandra had the impression that he was saying: ‘I feel the same.’

 

Once Aristandra opened up to Leo, her relationship with the lion changed.  In the days that followed, she found herself telling him more and more about her past, and talking to Leo began to feel even more natural than talking to Russus or Felix ever had.  She also learned that Leo was able to scratch out letters in the dirt, but it was an awkward and slow method of communication.  Learning to speak in a series of yes or no questions was much quicker and easier.

 

Both Aristandra and Leo were determined to work on the cure that would return Leo to his human state, but it was a process that required a great deal of planning.  Most of that work fell to Leo, who was able to mysteriously come across the necessary supplies that would enable them to endure the journey ahead.  Amazingly, Leo even managed to find some blank scrolls and a reed pen, and with those materials, Aristandra was able to write down what she remembered about the Mystclear flower and the Ember vine.  She was even able to sketch out an image that approximated what she had seen in the books she read, so that if Leo saw the plants, he could identify them.

 

A bit over a week later, the pair of them were ready to travel.  Aristandra knew that the Mystclear flower could be found to the east, but since she knew little more than that, the exact direction was no better than a guess.  They would have to travel by foot, and stay away from the main roads.  Aristandra had no clue how people would react to seeing a lion, but she had a feeling that the reaction wouldn’t be positive.

 

As the sun dawned on the day of their departure, and Aristandra slung a small burlap sack of supplies over her shoulder, she noticed Leo giving her a worried look.

 

Aristandra gave the lion a reassuring smile.  “Don’t worry about me, Leo.  I’ll be all right.”

 

Leo’s expression turned doubtful and he peered at her sack, and then his own bag, tied to his back and filled with supplies.

 

 “I assure you, my bag isn’t too heavy at all.  I can carry it.”

 

Leo’s expression was still doubtful.  He looked down at her feet.

 

 “I’m all healed up!  I promise!  Or do you doubt my ability to keep up?”

 

Leo tilted his head, and then nodded.

 

 “I’ll keep up just fine!” she said tartly.  “I’m not some mewling kitten on wobbly legs.  I might not be able to run as fast as you, but I’m no weakling.”

 

Leo gave her a leonine shrug, that doubtfully said: ‘If you say so.’

 

 “You’ll see,” Aristandra muttered at the lion, ignoring his amused expression.

 

They travelled through the morning, with Aristandra setting the pace since she couldn’t walk as quickly as Leo could.  The openness of the sky felt strange to Aristandra, who had spent nearly her entire life within the confines of Mahala Palace.  Even when she ran away, the last thing she was thinking about was enormousness of the sky.  She couldn’t help watching everything around them, from the rolling yellowy-green hills, to the birds fluttering overhead, to all the insects, the occasional dark trees, and the few straggly shrubs.  Compared to Mahala Palace, everything looked so haphazard and chaotic.  It helped to emphasize the fact that she was truly free.

 

But while Leo’s energy appeared to be boundless, Aristandra found herself tiring.  She wasn’t accustomed to this much physical exertion, and nothing in her life at Mahala Palace had prepared her for the experience of hours upon hours of walking.  But Aristandra was too stubborn to express her weakness to Leo.  The two of them may have grown closer, but Aristandra felt that she owed the lion so much, and she hated the thought of being a burden.

 

Yet, somehow, Aristandra must have given something away.  She wasn’t sure if it was her expression, or her slowing gait, but Leo suddenly stopped.

 

 “What is it?  Why have you stopped?” Aristandra asked.

 

Leo arched his eyebrows in a way that said: ‘You know why.’

 

 “I can keep going,” Aristandra argued, rather ineffectively.

 

Leo simply shook his head, and then sat down.

 

 “I can!”

 

Leo kept looking at her, as if to say: ‘Try telling me that again.’

 

Aristandra huffed.  “Fine!  I can’t.  I’m  _ tired. _ ”

 

Somehow, the lion’s expression became extremely smug, and Aristandra huffed again.  She set down the burlap sack, attempted to flatten the tall grass, and sat down next to Leo.

 

 “You’re too perceptive, by far,” she grumbled.  Turning her head, she glanced towards him.  “What gave it away?  Was it because I was slowing down?”

 

Leo peered at her feet, and then back at Aristandra before nodding. 

 

Aristandra sighed.  “I’m not much good at this, am I?”

 

Leo made a low rumbling sound in his throat, not liking Aristandra’s self-depreciating comment.

 

Aristandra laughed.  “I’ll get better.”

  
She felt Leo lean his weight against her shoulder, and Aristandra, who now fully trusted Leo, leaned back against him.  While it was hot, and her feet ached, and bugs seemed to be all over her, she realized that she was pretty content with her life.  She never would have expected to meet someone like Leo, but she was truly glad that she did.


	14. Chapter 14

Aristandra and Leo had been travelling for over a week.  Their pace was slow, since Aristandra still needed to build up her endurance, but neither of them had a timeline for accomplishing their mission.  To make things more difficult, they could not travel near the roads, and always kept a lookout for humans, which represented the greatest danger, but thus far, they had been fortunate in avoiding any threats.  But despite these challenges, Aristandra was enjoying her time spent with Leo.  He might not have been able to speak, but she was still able to learn increasingly more about his personality.

 

The pair of them were taking a break under the shade of a large, umbrella-shaped tree.  It was close to noon, and far too hot to continue trekking under the merciless sun.  The buzzing of insects created a lazy backdrop to the placid timelessness of the moment.  But while a nap would have been nice, neither of them were particularly sleepy.  Instead, they conversed.

 

 “Does it really not bother you that I dominate all the conversations?” Aristandra wondered.  “You must miss being able to speak.”

 

Leo shrugged, with a look that said: ‘Somehow, I bravely endure.’

 

Aristandra hummed.  “Well - since you can’t actually talk, why don’t you choose what you want to hear from me.”

 

Leo raised his eyebrows.  But then he nodded in understanding.  He scanned the nearby surroundings and decided that the patch of dirt under the tree would work best.  It was easiest, since it was right behind them.  In the dirt, he managed to scratch out: YR FRNDS.  The words were shortened simply due to ease and lack of space.

 

Aristandra, who had twisted around to be able to see what Leo was writing, peered down at the words.  “You want to hear about my friends?  You mean, Russus and Felix?”

 

Leo shook his head.  He added: HUMAN.

 

Aristandra’s brows drew together.  “Oh.  All right.  Hmm.  Well -” she paused as she searched her mind.  As much as she now trust Leo, she didn’t feel like talking about Lee.  “Why don’t I tell you about Lady Dalia.  Or - I suppose she’s married now, so she’s Princess Dalia.  She was always kind to me, if sometimes rather oblivious.  But she meant well.  I -” Aristandra pursed her lips.  “I hope she doesn’t hate me for leaving without explaining.  Though -”  Aristandra trailed off and then shook her head.

 

 “Ah, nevermind.  What was I saying about Lady Dalia.”  Aristandra began to relate her friendship with the bubbly and featherbrained girl, starting from the time they met.  Though Lady Dalia had remained constant in her friendship, Aristandra never felt as close to her as she had with the mysterious Lee.  But nonetheless, the other girl had won her way into Aristandra’s heart, and as Aristandra described some of the amusing moments they had shared, she realized that she missed Lady Dalia, even if Lady Dalia was now too busy being a princess.

 

 “We were in different worlds,” Aristandra sighed.  “Lady Dalia is a noble, betrothed - and now married - to one of the princes, and she is well-liked at that.  She didn’t have to give me any of her time.  She could have befriended anyone else.  And even if, at first, she became my friend because of my abilities, she still stayed by me, even when she learned that I can’t actually control the direction of my dreams.  I know that she didn’t understand me - not truly.  How could she?” A sentimental smile crossed her face.  “You know, she used to drag me to event after event, and somehow, she never, ever seemed to notice how uncomfortable the other nobles were when I was around.  Her lack of awareness was rather - ah - remarkable.”

 

Leo snorted, and Aristandra raised her eyebrows as she looked over at him.  But Leo gave her an innocent expression, and Aristandra decided that she had misread his reaction.  For a moment, it almost seemed like he was amused because he actually  _ knew _ Lady Dalia.  But how could that be?  She gave a light shake of her head and her eyes slid back to the horizon.

 

A small smile crossed her face as her thoughts returned to Lady Dalia.  “I don’t know what I would have done without her.  Especially after Lee left.”  Aristandra’s smile faded and her expression became distant, as she stared out at the undulating grasses.  “Despite that, there was a great deal that I never dared to tell her.  She didn’t know about Russus or Felix.  She didn’t know how trapped I felt.  Once, I said something like: ‘I wish I could leave - and just go somewhere else,’ and she began to list a number of quaint cities and towns that I ought to see, as if I could pick up my life and leave so easily, when I have nothing to my name.  I don’t think Lady Dalia knew what it was truly like to not have something.”

 

Aristandra fell silent for a moment, lost in the past.  “Even though she never really understood me, she was a good friend.  She stayed by me.  Unlike -” Aristandra trailed off.  

 

She was startled by a nudged at her shoulder from Leo, and when she looked up at him, his expression said: ‘Continue.’

 

Aristandra gave the lion a strained smile.  “Unlike Lee,” she finished.  After a pause, Leo nudged her once again.

 

Aristandra’s lips twisted downwards.  “You - want to hear about Lee?”

 

Leo seemed to take in her troubled expression.  An uncertain look crossed his face, but then he shook his head, and Aristandra felt the tension that she didn’t realize she was holding, leave her body.  Thinking about Lee was still uncomfortable.  She knew that she needed to face her feelings if she was to ever heal.  Even the books written by philosophers had mentioned the ill-effects of bottling up one’s feelings, and yet, how could she possibly process the loss and abandonment of her best friend?

 

Deciding that they had rested for long enough, Aristandra stood up, brushing bits of plant matter off her coarse clothing.

 

 “Shall we continue?” she asked Leo, her voice falsely upbeat.

 

Leo gave her another uncertain look but then nodded.  As Aristandra and Leo made slow and steady progress eastwards, they noticed that the landscape began to change.  The low hills became steeper and more sloped, and the distant mountains in the horizon drew ever closer.  The sight of the tan-brown peaks filled Aristandra with a sense of trepidation.  Would they have to brave those mountains to find the Mystclear flower?  Everything that she had read about mountains suggested that they were a harsh and dangerous terrain.  But for Leo’s sake, Aristandra was willing to brave those hazards.

 

Along their travels, they had come across a greater variety of wildflowers than Aristandra could have imagined.  As she compared her hand-written notes to the rainbow of blooms, she and Leo failed to find a precise match for the five-petaled Mystclear flower, and yet, Aristandra could not help the nagging sense of doubt.  What if her memories were faulty?  What if they had already come across the Mystclear flower, and failed to recognize it?  It was for these reasons that Aristandra collected a number of flowers and herbs, just to be safe.  But Aristandra had a feeling that this mission wasn’t one that she and Leo could complete on their own.  It was looking increasingly likely that they would have to ask for help - at least to identify the plants they needed and ensure that they were heading in the right direction.  However, Aristandra could not deny that the idea of approaching strangers for help filled her with a sense of dread.  And of what Leo?  Most people would run away in terror at the sight of him.

 

And yet, when Aristandra asked Leo his thoughts, he could provide no insights.  She had a feeling that Leo’s thoughts mirrored her own.  Neither of them had the expertise to be able to definitively identify the plants needed in the ritual, yet neither of them wanted to venture towards the towns or villages to beg for help.

 

Aristandra and Leo were drawing closer to the base of the towering mountains, still avoiding human contact, when they came across a small band of people who appeared to be living in cloth tents.  The people looked like no one that Aristandra had ever seen before, with beautiful tanned skin the colour of avocado seeds, and hair that glinteddark reddish under the sun.  They draped themselves in layers of dyed textiles, that was almost dizzying to look upon, and yet, pleasing to the eye.

 

Aristandra knit her brows, feeling both anxious and yet hopeful.  This was clearly no village, and such a small group of people was much less intimidating than the other settlements that they had passed.

 

 “Should I try and speak to them?” Aristandra asked.

 

Leo gave her an uneasy look, before returning his gaze to the small band of people, mentally assessing the risk that they represented.

 

 “We’ve been travelling for weeks now.  When we set out, I was -” Aristandra frowned and shook her head.  “I was over-confident, I think.  I had read so extensively, that I thought I knew all I needed to know.  But the more we travel, the more I become aware of the extent of my ignorance.  I want to help you Leo, but I know I can’t do it on my own.  If we ask for help, perhaps these people could point us in the right direction.”

 

Leo’s seemed to ruminate over her words before giving her a quick nod in agreement.  Aristandra smiled nervously, feeling like she was making the right choice, and yet apprehensive about having to approach people.  Throughout her short life, positive encounters with other people were few and far between.  She and Leo took a step forward, but then Aristandra halted, furrowing her brows.

 

 “Leo -” she paused, glancing towards the band of people before returning her attention to the lion.  “Perhaps it’s best if you wait here.  We don’t know how they’ll react to seeing a lion.  There may not be very many of them, but they could still hurt you.”

 

Leo narrowed his eyes, not liking her words.  His expression seemed to say: ‘They could hurt you too.’

 

 “Please Leo?” she pleaded.  “I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you.  And while seeing a girl on her own isn’t likely to alarm them, seeing a girl with a lion is sure to frighten them.  If they saw you, we might not even get a chance to speak.”

 

If anything, Aristandra’s words appeared to make Leo more unhappy, and he emitted a low growled.

 

Aristandra bit down on her lower lip.  The last thing she wanted was a disagreement with Leo.  As if frustrated that Aristandra didn’t understand his thoughts, Leo huffed, and padded over to a patch of bare earth.  Lifting his paw, he scratched out: WORRIED ABT U.

 

Aristandra looked down at the letters, trying to sort out the meaning.  “You’re - worried about me?  Oh.”  She looked over at the lion, who was wearing a stubborn expression as he looked up at her.  Though she didn’t want Leo worrying over her, the words still suffused her with a glow of warmth, knowing that Leo cared.

 

She smiled crookedly.  “I suppose I’m worried about you too.  I mean, you’re just a big kitten after all,” she teased.

 

Leo growled again, this time in irritation.  Unable to help herself, Aristandra laughed, and gave him a quick, side-ways hug.  

 

 “I’m not afraid of you,” she affectionately murmured into his mane.  “Never you.”  The action seemed to disarm Leo, and when she pulled away, his irritation had melted.

 

 “So, what should we do then?  Hmm.”  Aristandra’s eyes swept over the nearby terrain.  “What if we sneak up to them as close as we are able.  I can speak to them, and you will be nearby, but unseen.  Would that satisfy you?”

 

Leo considered her words.  He didn’t seem entirely in agreement, but in the end, he nodded.  The pair of them circled around the camp that the band had made, trying to determine whether the people might be a threat, and which angle was the best approach.  The group of circular-shaped tents surrounded a central fire-pit, ringed by men and women who were busy chattering and preparing food.  As far as Aristandra could tell, they did not seem dangerous.

 

But before either of them could come to a decision, an elderly voice called out: “There’s really no sense in you creeping about.  We’re not oblivious villagers or townsfolk.  We were aware of you from the very start.”

 

Aristandra and Leo exchanged a startled look.

 

 “Do not be afraid,” the voice continued.  “We do not harm those who do not harm us.”

 

Leo made a low rumbling sound in the back of his throat, his hackles rising, but Aristandra had no desire to antagonize the people of the camp.  

 

 “Let’s give them a chance,” she told Leo in low tones.  He gave her a doubtful look, but in the end, relented.

 

The pair of them straightened up and stepped forward, and were greeted by the sight of an old woman.  She was surprisingly tall, with a relaxed and fearless posture, and penetrating eyes that spoke of an astute mind.  Behind her the rest of the band of people had turned to face them, giving Aristandra and Leo openly curious looks.  A couple of children had even scampered closer, eyeing Leo with unabashed curiosity.

 

 “Well, this is certainly something that one does not see often,” the old woman wryly observed.  

 

Aristandra gave the woman a puzzled look.  “Are you referring to me?  Or Leo?”

 

The woman smiled with amusement, etching deep lines into her weather-worn face.  “Both, young ones.  Those with the Sight are rare.  Nearly as rare as the few unfortunate humans who have been cursed with the form of animals.”

 

Aristandra’s eyes widened.  “How did you know?” she wondered, amazed.

 

 “I was born with my own gifts, which has given me the position of wise woman within this tribe.”

 

 “Then, do you know why we are here?” Aristandra asked, feeling hopeful.

 

The corners of the woman’s lips quirked upwards.  “My gift does not extend that far, and yet, I can venture a guess.  You seek to break the curse upon your friend and return him to human form.  Am I correct?”

 

Aristandra’s eyes lit up.  “Yes!  We’re looking for Mystclear flowers.  Would you be able to help?”

 

The wise woman lifted her brows.  “We can do more than that, young ones.  Our shared wisdom is ancient, and we may be able to help cure your lion friend.  Though we cannot offer our services for free.”

 

 “You could cure Leo?” Aristandra asked with awe.  She looked down at the lion, her expression brimming with hope, before returning her attention to the wise woman.  “What is your price?  I’m afraid I don’t have any aurum.  Though -” she looked back at Leo.  But for whatever reason, his expression was unreadable.

 

 “Ah, how unfortunate, for it is aurum we need.  About ten large weights in measure.  The life of Roamers, such as ourselves, can be a difficult one, and aurum can buy us what we need to survive the few seasons of the year that are unusually brutal.”

 

Aristandra knit her brows, and looked back at Leo.  “Do you have the gold?” she questioned.  “Ten large weights is quite an immense sum, isn’t it.”  She frowned.  “I suppose I don’t know much of your past.  But if you have the gold, then you’ll be able to be a human again!  You’ll be able to return to your home.  And - well - you won’t need me.”  The idea of not being needed by Leo made her a bit sad, but in her heart, she knew she would have preferred for Leo to be happy than for Leo to need her.

 

Leo appeared to be deep in thought, which was a bit odd for a question that Aristandra had assumed was straightforward.  Shouldn’t he know how much aurum he had or didn’t have?

 

 “Leo?”

 

The lion returned his gaze to hers, before shaking his head.

 

 “Oh.”  Aristandra wasn’t sure whether to feel saddened or relieved.  She looked back at the wise woman.  “Neither of us has the gold, unfortunately.  But - would you be able to tell us, at least, where Mystclear flowers can be found?  Or -” she reached for her burlap sack, pulling out the now-dried flowers she had collected, “- could you tell me if any of these are Mystclear flowers?”

 

The wise woman stepped closer and examined the samples.  She picked up one of the flowers, and gingerly smelled it before setting it back down.  “None of these are Mystclear flowers, young one.  I can tell you where to find such flowers, however.”

 

 “Truly?  Oh, thank you!” Aristandra exclaimed gratefully.  “Where are they?”

 

The wise woman turned around to face the towering tan-coloured mountains.  She lifted her arm, and pointed towards the peaks.  “Mystclear can be found in the mountain valleys.  It is easily identifiable.  Simply consider it’s namesake.  Mystclear.  Where the flowers grow, mist does not settle.”

 

Aristandra’s eyes widened as she realized the challenge that lay ahead.  When she looked over at Leo, his expression mirrored her thoughts.  But knowing where Mystclear flower could be found put them a step ahead than their previous wanderings, and though it would be a difficult journey, Aristandra felt ready.

 

She turned back to the wise woman.  “Thank you.  I am truly grateful for your help.”

 

The woman nodded.  Before Aristandra and Leo could depart, the wise woman added: “Would you care to take a meal with us?  I can feel the children’s curiosity from all the way over here.  They’ve never yet witnessed such a regal being so close.”

 

Aristandra gave Leo a questioning look, and even though he seemed pained by the idea of being entertainment for children, he nodded.

 

Aristandra broke into a wide smile.  “Thank you,” she told the wise woman.  “We would be honoured.”

 

From behind the woman, Aristandra could hear the children excitedly crying out.  “Eeeeeiii! A lion!  We get to eat with a lion?  Will he let us ride him?”

 

The wise woman chuckled, while Aristandra did her best to muffle her giggles.  When she peeked over at Leo, his expression was one of exaggerated suffering.  

 

 “I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” she murmured reassuringly, causing Leo to shoot her a look that said: ‘This is all your fault.’

 

Aristandra and Leo found out rather belatedly that the food would not be ready for hours yet, but the acceptance of the wise woman meant the acceptance of the rest of the tribe, and the Roamers, as they called themselves, were all too happy to tell Aristandra and Leo of their journeys, while the children continued to dare each other to pet Leo or catch his tail (much to his dismay.)  

 

The adults did nothing to help, Leo’s predicament, instead saying: “Just give them a good swat.  They learn by experience what actions are right and wrong, and you do not need to indulge them.  We offer your our hospitality from the openness of our hearts, not from obligation.”  But despite the children’s unruly behaviour as they became increasingly more daring around Leo, the lion did nothing to harm even a single a hair on the children's’ head.  

 

The warm welcome of the Roamers helped Aristandra to quickly relax, and it was a while before she realized that she had never felt so at ease around a group of people.  It was completely different from any encounter that she had ever had, and for the briefest of moments, she wondered if this was what it was like to have a family.  But since Aristandra never had a true family, she couldn’t know.  The hours spent with the Roamers seemed to blaze by with blinding speed.

 

After taking their meal, the tribe invited Aristandra and Leo to stay the night, and sleep within the safety of the camp.  They knew that the pair would not be able to traverse the mountains at night, and Aristandra was glad to be offered the kindness and safety.

 

As she drifted off for the night, with Leo’s warmth next to her, she murmured: “Leo?”

 

Leo made a low sound in the back of his throat to say he was listening.

 

Aristandra smiled.  “I’m sorry about what you had to deal with today.  Though the villagers did say you could swat away the children.”

 

Leo simply growled in irritation at that.

 

 “The Roamers are kind, aren’t they?  I wish I had aurum to give them.  Leo -” she paused.  “What if we just try and earn that gold.  Instead of attempting this ritual on our own.  I’ve never tried it - and if the Roamers can help -” she trailed off.

  
But as Aristandra listened for Leo’s reply, the lion remained silent.  She peered up at his face, but in the darkness, she could not make out his expression.  Perhaps he was thinking.  Or perhaps he had fallen asleep.  It seemed that these matters could be dealt with another day.


	15. Chapter 15

Aristandra woke up the next day with one of the clearest dreams that she had had in a long time.  When the fogginess cleared from her mind, and she realized where she was, she felt an odd disconnected sense from reality.  Had it all been a dream?  The Roamers had been so kind, that it felt like it couldn’t be real.  But no - despite the early hour of the day, she could hear activity around her.  And when she looked over at Leo, he was already awake, watching the Roamers with a wary expression, as though doubting the genuinity of their kindness.

 

 “Leo?” she murmured, her voice grainy.  The lion looked down at her with an expression of concern and she smiled.  “You look like you’re guarding.  What are you guarding from?”

 

She lifted her head, and her eyes widened when she saw the children, who looked like they were plotting some kind of mischief against Leo.  Unable to help herself, she broke out into giggles.  Leo gave her a peevish look, as if saying: ‘I thought you were on my side.’

 

Aristandra grinned.  “I’m sure they just want to play.”  But Leo only huffed in exasperation.

 

Aristandra pushed herself into a sitting position, lifting her arms overhead, and arching her back in a long stretch.  When her eyes caught Leo’s he blinked, and then looked away, almost as if embarrassed.  But what could he have been embarrassed about?  Was he watching her?  Considering how much time they spent in one another’s company, that hardly seemed like a big deal.

 

She turned her attention towards the towering mountains.  “I suppose that’s our destination today.”  She looked back at Leo.  “Should we replenish our supplies before we go?  Or do you think that we can manage from your hunting?”

 

Leo made a low and uncertain sound.

 

Aristandra hummed.  “Let’s ask the Roamers then.  They will probably know the terrain best.”  She stood up, and attempted to dust off her rough clothes (not that it made a difference.)  The Roamers who had noticed that she was awake gave her wide smile in greeting, and Aristandra’s eyes crinkled warmly as she smiled in return.  To the side, she could hear the children whispering and laughing, and she felt Leo press closer to her side.  

 

 “I won’t let them hurt you,” she said, amused.  “But you know that you can defend yourself against a few small children.  You’re far too kind.”  Leo didn’t bother to dignify that with an answer.

 

She spotted the wise woman sitting on a fallen log by the unlit fire pit, holding a baby in her arms, perhaps a grandchild, or one of the other tribesman’s child.  When the woman spotted them, she nodded her head in greeting.  A sudden thought struck Aristandra’s mind, and she halted in her steps.  It was a flash of intuition, and though she couldn’t explain why, she knew she had to tell the woman of her dream.

 

The wise woman’s brows lifted.  “You have had a vision.”

 

Aristandra nodded, feeling shy under the knowing eyes of the wise woman.  “You know?”  

 

 “It’s not unusual for those with the Sight to have visions of events that are close to them,” the woman informed her.  “Come.  Sit, young one.  There’s no need for you to be uncomfortable.”

 

Aristandra smiled gratefully, and sat down next to the woman.  Leo settled next to her.

 

 “Now tell me of your vision,” the woman gently urged, shifting the baby in her arms when it made a small whimper.

 

 “It was a dream,” Aristandra told her.  She looked down at the baby, which was a little easier than facing the too-knowing gaze of the wise woman.  It wasn’t that the wise woman made Aristandra uncomfortable - Aristandra simply wasn’t accustomed to receiving so much focused attention unless it was negative, such as in the case of the mage.  Even when she was pouring her heart out to Lee, she never had to look at him, and Lady Dalia had been, well, distractible.  

 

 “I was dreaming of birds in flight.  The season was changing,” Aristandra explained, feeling the eyes of both the wise woman and Leo on her.  “The birds were following their usual path but it felt - wrong.  Dangerous, almost.”  She knit her brows.  “As they flew, their feathers began to fall off.  But in the distance, I could see a great body of water.  It looked ominous, and yet I felt that they should head that way.  The dream ended before I could learn of what they did.”

 

Aristandra fell silent and the wise woman seemed to be mulling over her words.  

 

 “Was there anything else?” the woman asked.

 

Aristandra shook her head.  “Not really.  Just small details.  The patterns of the birds’ feathers remind of your style of dress.  The leader of the birds was larger than the others, and his feathers were slowest to fall out.”

 

The wise woman hummed.  “This is a powerful vision.  One that could may well save our lives.”

 

Aristandra’s eyes widened as she looked up at the woman.  “Truly?”

 

The wise woman nodded.  “Yes.  There has been something in the air - in the movement of the animals, and the clouds that suggests this will be an especially difficult year.  The Head of our band has been arguing to take our usual winter route.  It is the most familiar, and usually the safest.  But I have been trying to convince him otherwise.  Your vision will only strengthen my position, and sway those Roamers who are undecided.”

 

 “Oh.”  It was strange to her to be given such immediate feedback about her own vision.  Usually the mage and clerics told her nothing.  “I - I’m glad I could help.  I know I’ve only been here a short time but - but you have all been so kind to me and Leo.”

 

The wise woman gave Aristandra a warm smile, and after shifting the baby over to one arm, she place her other hand on Aristandra’s shoulder.  “You have a good heart, young one.  You and your friend, both.”  She gave Aristandra’s shoulder a light squeeze, before returning her hand to the support the baby’s weight.

 

Aristandra felt her face heat up.  She wasn’t accustomed to kind words from people who barely knew her, and she almost felt unworthy.  “Thank you,” she murmured, unsure if that was the right thing to say.  When she ventured another look at the wise woman, the older woman seemed to be examining her with thoughtful eyes.  Unsure of what to do, Aristandra gave the woman a questioning look.

 

The wise woman hummed.  “I cannot cure your friend for you - not without resources.  But, for the gift of the vision you have provided, there  _ is _ something I can offer you.”

 

 “There is?” Aristandra asked hopefully.

 

The wise woman looked over at Leo and then back at Aristandra, before giving Aristandra a mysterious smile that spoke of a lifetime of deep knowledge.  Curiously, there was also a hint of amusement in her smile.  

 

 “Yes,” the wise woman answered.  “The Sight may be a powerful gift, but as I am sure you know, it does not always offer the clearest of answers.  Magic is not well understood in this world - some do not even believe in it.  Even I cannot claim to truly understand the force that is Magic.  But it  _ is _ real.  What I am telling you is important so remember it well, young one.”

 

Aristandra nodded, trying to absorb all of the older woman’s words.

 

 “Magic is a form of power,” the wise woman continued.  “But only in the hands of those who know how to use it.  It is neither a force for good or evil.  It simply is.  And in many ways, it is much more subtle than people realize.  Yet it is also far greater than people realize as well.”  The woman paused.  “Emotions themselves have great power.  Hate and anger can both drive magic - drive it to do terrible and evil things.  But I see in you a great deal of kindness.”

 

Aristandra felt her face heating up again, embarrassed by the praise.  “So, my emotions will affect my ability to help Leo?” she questioned.

 

The wise woman smiled knowingly.  “Love, young one.  Love will help you on your path.”

 

Aristandra blinked,  “L - love?” she stammered.  She peeked over at Leo, and their eyes met for a brief moment before they both looked away.  The heat had spread from Aristandra’s face to her whole body, and she balled her hands into fists, feeling confused..  She cared about Leo a lot, but love?  She hadn’t thought to put her feelings for her companion into words.  All she knew was that she was happy in Leo’s company - that she’d rather be with him than anyone else.  She wanted to help him, to stay with him, but she also knew it wouldn’t last.  What would happen when he became a human again?  Surely he had his own life to return to.  Possibly a life without her.

 

 “Love can be one of the most powerful forces of all,” the wise woman told her.  “Trust in yourself.  Not just your Sight, but your heart as well.”

 

Aristandra nodded.  “T - thank you,” she answered, still flustered.

 

The wise woman’s smile only became more amused.  “Will you be departing for the mountains today?”

 

 “Oh.  Yes.”  Aristandra was relieved about the change in topic.  She looked towards the imposing slopes.  “We were wondering if you suggest resupplying before we go.  We don’t know anything about traversing mountain ranges.”

 

The wise woman hummed.  “I believe you should be fine, especially if you are able to forage and hunt.  Mystclear flowers grow in abundance in the mountain valleys.  It will not be difficult for you to find.”

 

 “Thank you,” Aristandra said, relieved.  She peered back at Leo, but his gaze seemed to be fixed on the blackened remains of the fire pit.  Another wave of heat swept through her, and she quickly shoved aside all thoughts of love.  She could think about what the wise woman’s words meant later.  

 

 “I suppose we’ll get going then,” Aristandra mused.  “Thank you again.  For everything.  And - well, if we do come across the gold you need, we’ll be back.”  She furrowed her brows in thought.  “But I don’t think I’ll know where to find you.”

 

The woman smiled.  “There are others of our kind, and if you find another band of Roamers, they can point the way.  We have means of staying connected with our own people.”

 

 “All right.”  Aristandra returned a smile of her own.  She looked over at Leo, who finally met her gaze.  “Shall we go?”

 

Leo nodded.

 

The goodbye to the Roamers took longer than expected, with the children dismayed about Leo’s departure, and the other adults trying to convince Aristandra and Leo to take another meal.  But by late-morning, Aristandra and Leo were on their way, following a narrow foot-worn path that the Roamers recommended.  They travelled the rest of the morning in silence.  Aristandra needed the time to think, and of course, Leo couldn’t speak.  But while Aristandra reflected on the wise woman’s words about emotions and love, she did her best to keep the thoughts as abstract as possible.  She was  _ not _ , in any way, ready to think about whether or not she loved Leo.  She had only known him for a few short weeks.  And yes, those weeks had flown by with dazzling speed.  But Leo couldn’t even speak!  Besides, weren’t there different forms of love?  Platonic love?  She was sure that she could say that she could come to love Leo platonically.  Perhaps given more time together.  And there was no denying that she definitely wanted more time with him.

 

Aristandra shook her head.  By then, it was creeping into early afternoon, and her legs were burning far more than usual from the ceaseless uphill climb.  As they trekked forward, she spotted a rocky outcropping that provided a bit of shade, and she looked over at Leo.

 

 “Shall we rest?”

 

Leo gave her a look, and Aristandra huffed.  “All right, I know  _ you _ don’t need rest.  But I wouldn’t mind sitting for a bit.”

 

Despite being a lion, somehow Leo managed a smirk.

 

They made themselves comfortable in the small shadowed area of the outcropping, and once again, silence descended.  But now that they were sitting, Aristandra couldn’t stop thinking, and she felt awkward.

 

Finally, she broke the silence.  “The wise woman had some interesting things to say.”

 

Leo gave her a look that said: ‘Oh really?  Do you have any more obvious things you’d like to point out?’

 

Aristandra lips twisted wryly.  “You’re just thinking a whole bunch of terribly mocking things about me, aren’t you?”

 

Leo made a low, amused sound.

 

Aristandra smiled as the awkwardness melted away into the usual ease that she felt around Leo.  “Do you think that when the wise woman mentioned love, she meant any form of love - like platonic love?”

 

Leo’s expression was inscrutable.  He shook his head, not in a way that said ‘no,’ but in a way that said ‘I don’t know.’

 

Aristandra sighed, drawing her her legs, and resting her chin on her knees.  “Perhaps I should have asked the wise woman more questions.  I wasn’t really - ah - thinking.  I suppose.”  She felt herself flushing.  She didn’t want to talk about what she had been thinking.

 

They fell into silence once again.  When Aristandra felt she had rested enough, they stood and continued their journey.  Rather than discussing love (and all its variations), Aristandra ended up chattering about some of the more interesting books she had read while she had still been living in Mahala Palace.  While she had been diligent about her education because of her desire to earn her own living as a tutor, she also liked learning for its own sake.  The world of people hadn’t been open to her, but the world of books had.  And though she worried that she might have been boring Leo, he appeared to listen to everything she said with the same, thoughtful intentness.  She felt a pang in her chest as she wished she could hear Leo’s thoughts.  Aristandra had a feeling that Leo’s mind would fascinate her. 

 

When talking and climbing at the same time got to be too tiring, the pair of them trekked in silence once more, but it was a comfortable and companionable one.  Their path wound around the side of the mountain, and for that, Aristandra was grateful because she didn’t think she’d have the strength to climb to the peak (even if some part of her was tempted, if only to have the opportunity to witness the incredible view from that height.)

 

The sun made its slow crawl across the sky, and because of Aristandra’s slow pace (and constant need for breaks in which to catch her breath), it was darkening by the time they hit the high point of the mountain pass, and they could go no further.  While Aristandra set up the camp, Leo left to prowl for food.  On his own, he rarely ever managed to catch big game, but he was effective at catching smaller creatures such as hares.  

 

It felt different, being in the mountains than out in the plains and rolling hills. The air was a bit thinner, and as Aristandra shivered, she realized it was colder as well.  The moments when Leo left to hunt for food always made her feel smaller and more vulnerable.  When Leo was nearby, she could focus her attention on him, and despite the fact that he couldn’t speak, he was still interesting, and his presence was oddly soothing.  But when Leo was gone, it made her aware of the vastness of the world, and how utterly alone alone she was.  Russus, Felix and Lee were gone, and Lady Dalia had her own life to live.  Who else did Aristandra have, but Leo?  Those moments always made her want to shrink into herself.  But she couldn’t bring herself to express her feelings to Leo.  He was caring and thoughtful, and Aristandra had a feeling that if he knew her thoughts, he would choose not to leave her.  Fortunately, Leo’s hunt that evening was quick, and when he returned, she hoped that the relief wasn’t too obvious on her face.

 

The following day, Aristandra learned that contrary to her expectations, climbing down the mountain path wasn’t much easier than climbing up.  Her thighs ached from the previous day, and the tightness of her muscles, combined with the downslope of the mountain made every step uncomfortable.  Her discomfort must have shown on her face, because Leo padded alongside her at an especially slow pace.

 

But as they slowly trod down the slope, Aristandra was dismayed to see that they had lost sight of the footpath.  The area they were crossing was rocky enough that there was little vegetation, and without a path cutting through vegetation, neither of them were sure of which way to go.  The low hanging clouds did not make visibility any easier.

 

Aristandra thinned her lips, feeling a small prickle of worry.  “I suppose we could just keep heading downwards,” she murmured.  “It’s so misty that it’s hard to see where we’re going.”  The mist also happened to chill her skin, and she was thankful for their constant motion, which kept her warm.

 

Leo nodded in agreement.  They continued downwards, and Aristandra was too busy watching her steps to maintain any sort of conversation.  But for all the care that Aristandra took, it wasn’t enough.  As she lowered her weight upon what appeared to be a stable slab of rock, she felt a jolt as the rock shifted, and her heart leapt up to her throat as she realized that she was losing her balance, and falling downwards.  

 

Her arms flailed in an attempt to grab at something, and she winced in pain as she fell against her side, sharp rocks tearing through her clothes and cutting up her skin.  Her actions seemed to have triggered a small rock slide.  Aristandra felt like she could scarcely breath, as she wondered if this was it, and she was just going to die from some ridiculously clumsy death, so soon after escaping Mahala Palace.  She didn’t even have a chance to truly help Leo, but there was no more room for thought: only fear.  But then she felt a terrible pain in her forearm, and then another pain in her shoulder as her bones seem to strain in their socket.  But somehow, she wasn’t falling anymore.

 

She looked up, and her eyes widened when she realized that Leo was holding on to her, his teeth digging into her arms which explained the sharp pain.  Yet, she was also in shock as well, and though it hurt, the adrenaline coursing through her body made the pain seem strangely distant.

 

 “Leo!” she cried, barely able to hear her own voice over the rumble of sliding and tumbling stones.  But Leo’s hold on her had given her a chance to get a grip on solid ground, and she was no longer falling.

 

When he was sure that she was safe, Leo released her, but Aristandra didn’t miss the stricken expression on his face when he saw the terrible damage he had done to her arm.  He was clearly horrified, and without realizing his behaviour, he was backing away from her, as if wanting to deny the savagery of his actions.

 

 “Leo,” Aristandra repeated.  “You saved me.”

 

Leo’s eyes met hers, and he was clearly conflicted.  On one hand, it was true that he had saved her, but on the other, the cost had been dear, and Aristandra was bleeding freely from the horrible injury of not only her arm, but also her side where rocks had cut through her skin.  Leo shook his head.

 

 “Yes.  You saved me,” she said with as much emphasis as she could, but it was difficult when she was feeling increasingly light-headed.

 

Realizing the danger she was in, Leo leapt into action, tearing at the hem of her clothes to create scraps of cloth that she could use as a bandage.

 

 “Good idea,” Aristandra murmured, somewhat dazed, and although she wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and close her eyes, she forced herself to wrap up the worst of her wounds.

 

Her eyelids began to flutter closed.  The slope that she was lying on was bumpy and rough, but she felt so tired, that she barely cared.  She heard Leo growl and whine, and though she tried to focus, sensing that it was important to do so, she was just too achy and weary.  Easier to just let the darkness take her.  Her last thought before she faded was: ‘I’m sorry, Leo.’


	16. Chapter 16

As Aristandra’s eyes slowly opened, her first thought was that she was back in the cave with Leo.  Had all their travels just been a long and strange hallucination?  (She didn’t assume it was a dream because all her dreams were abstract and prophetic.)  But she realized moments later that the lighting was all wrong, and the stone here was a different colour than the stone of the cave where she had awoken to meet Leo.

 

She shifted her body and hissed from the sharp throbbing pain that seemed to explode in her arm, and along her side.  Seconds later, Leo’s face appeared above her, his golden eyes wide with worry.

 

 “Leo,” she croaked.  On top of all the pain, she was incredibly thirsty too.  As if understanding her thoughts, Leo left and returned moments later with a filled waterskin - one of the very convenient travel items that Leo had found before they began their journey.  She took the pouch gratefully, and after using Leo’s help to prop herself up, she gulped down the water with frantic eagerness. 

 

 “Thank you,” she said, her voice slightly clearer, though still weak.  Leo nodded, but she thought she detected guilt in the way he could barely meet her eyes, and the downward slant of his head.  As she shifted her weight, she realized that she was lying on the blanket they had brought, as well as the burlap sacks.  Was that how Leo had brought her here?  By placing her on top of the material, and dragging her?

 

Though Aristandra hurt  _ everywhere _ , she didn’t bring up her discomfort to Leo.  It was evident from his body language that he felt bad enough about what had happened to her, even if none of it was his fault.

 

Instead, she gave him a strained and wry smile, saying: “I'm not very much good am I?”  The words were true enough.  Leo would have been able to accomplish so much more without her holding him back.  She was clumsy, slow, and lacked the endurance for their unceasing travels.

 

But Leo only growled.  

 

She looked up at him and laughed woefully, but cut herself off at the pain the movement caused.  “I can see you think I'm being ridiculous.  But -” she bit down on her lower lip, and then shook her head.  She supposed she wasn't entirely useless.  She was the one who could still speak, and Leo couldn't exactly recite the ritual on his own.

 

 “I'm sorry for holding you back,” she eventually said, her voice small.  She wasn’t seeking pity, but a lifetime of being valued for only her dreams hadn’t helped to build a strong sense of self-worth.

 

Leo growled again, more menacingly than before.  She had a feeling that if he could speak, she'd be getting an earful.

 

Aristandra shook her head.  “You wouldn’t be in this position if not for me.”  She looked up at him, regret in her eyes.  “I should -” she attempted to lift herself into a halfway sitting position, but the effort only caused another burst of pain that made her vision flash white and black.  She cried out, falling back down on her side, and Leo moved closer, his expression distraught.

 

 “I’m - I’m fine,” Aristandra lied breathlessly.  “I’m fine.  D - don’t worry about me.”  Her breathing was shallow, and her teeth clenched as she attempted to ride out the waves of agony.  Leo picked up the waterskin, moving it closer to her, but Aristandra shook her head.  Water wouldn’t help.  She peered down at her arm, and grimaced at the sight of the fabric, stained reddish-brown with dried blood.  She did not know a great deal about medicine, but she had read enough to know that bandages needed to be changed, lest she suffer an infection.

 

She was weary and wanted nothing more than to lie there and just be miserable about her existence, but she also couldn’t bear the idea of being a useless lump.  Gingerly, she reached her uninjured hand forward, and pulled at one of the ends of the torn fabric tucked into the edges that had held it in place.  

 

 “I’m going to do something about this,” she murmured.  Leo looked at her arm with a mix of guilt and hesitance, but then nodded.

 

Unwrapping the outermost layers of the bandage was easy enough.  But beneath the outer layers, the fabric beneath was increasingly stained, and still damp, and she knew her injuries were likely pretty bad.  She didn’t look up at Leo - the guilt on his face would only intensify the painful pang in her heart.  And though she gritted her teeth and tried not to make a sound as her wounds were finally revealed, she couldn’t help the harsh exhale as the sticky remains of the bandage was pulled off.  

 

As she looked down at her arm, she felt a rising nausea in the back of her throat.  Life at Mahala Palace had been extremely sheltered, and she had never seen anything like this - except for Prince Septimus, and she tried never to think of what had happened to him.  Where Leo’s teeth had punctured her arm, there were rough-looking holes of torn flesh.  It wasn’t a clean bite after all - he was trying to support her weight to keep her from being dragged down by the rock slide.  In the dim light of the cave, her injuries looked blackish, and the skin around it was swollen, reddish, and caked with uneven splatters and lines of dried blood.

 

She heard Leo make a noise, and when she glanced up at him, his eyes were wide and horrified, as if he couldn’t believe what had happened to her.

 

 “It’s not so bad -” Aristandra reassured him, though she didn’t know if her words were a lie or the truth.  It looked and felt  _ terrible _ .  “The waterskin?”

 

The words seemed to snap Leo out of his distressed state, and he grabbed the waterskin with his mouth, handing it to her.  She uncorked it with her teeth, forced herself to hold her injured arm away from herself so she wouldn’t get the bedding wet, and poured the tepid water over her wounds.  She had read that spirits or salt were better for cleaning injuries, but neither she nor Leo had anything of the sort on hand.

 

Washing off her arm didn’t do anything to help her feel better, and didn’t even remove all of the dried bits of blood, but it was better than nothing.  But as she looked down at the rags of the discarded bandage, she realized she didn’t have anything to replace it with, other than tearing off another strip of her clothes.  The effort of doing such a thing seemed close to impossible, especially with only one hand.  But as if reading her mind, Leo understood what she wanted, and with care, he tore another long strip of fabric off her hem, his fangs easily ripping the fabric.

 

 “Thank you,” Aristandra said softly.  She took the strip, and began to wind it around her arm, embarrassed by the single whimper of pain that she hadn’t been able to hold back.  She knew Leo would never judge her badly for her suffering, but she also knew she would judge herself badly if she did anything to add to Leo’s misery.  She cared about him, and she didn’t want him to be hurt.

 

By the time Aristandra was done, there was a sheen of sweat across her skin, and she was panting from the effort.  It was just too much.  But then, to make matters worse, her stomach chose that very moment to begin gurgling in protest at its empty state.

 

Aristandra moaned.  Prior to leaving Mahala Palace, she never gave much thought to the idea that taking care of a body could be an ordeal.  She looked over at Leo, thinking to make some sort of light-hearted comment to brush off her discomfort, but his expression was far too upset.  It suddenly occurred to Aristandra that they probably didn’t have much food left.  After all, they travelled lean when both of them knew that they could rely on Leo’s hunting and Aristandra’s gathering to feed them.

 

 “Leo -” she paused, wondering how best to word her thoughts.  She had a feeling that if she didn’t say phrase her words with care, Leo would take things the wrong way and end up hovering over her, like some sort of concerned mother hen.  “We don’t have much left to eat, do we.”

 

Leo padded away, and returned with the last bit of hard, dried-up bread that the Roamers had given them.

 

 “Thank you.”  She looked down at the bread before looking up at Leo.  “I think it’s best if you go out for a hunt.  We’ll need more food soon.  And you can’t survive on bread.”

 

Leo’s expression became conflicted, and if he could speak, Aristandra thought he would probably protest.

 

 “I’ll be fine.  Just resting,” Aristandra assured him.  “In case you haven’t guessed, I won’t be able to do much.”  She laughed weakly, but then cringed from the pain.  Leo didn’t seem to find her comment to be funny.  “We’ll need to eat.  Both of us.  And you’re the only one who will be able to bring us any food.  Please?  I can see you’re worried but I would worry more if I thought you weren’t even taking care of yourself.  Please, Leo.”

 

Leo looked ready to argue, but eventually Leo nodded, and Aristandra sighed with relief.  She had a feeling that being able to run and hunt would take the hard edge off Leo’s evident anxiety and guilt.  As for her, she’d be able to wallow in self-pity without the added guilt of seeing Leo’s guilt.  It was just too much guilt.  Briefly, she thought that if Lee could see her thoughts, he would have laughed at her ridiculousness.  But Lee was gone, and why was she thinking about him anyway?  Leo was all that mattered.

 

 “I’ll see you soon,” Aristandra said to the lion, once he gave her another look over, and determined that there was nothing more he could do to help her.  He gave her a hesitant nod, and then turned to leave, picking up the waterskin at the last moment, as it occurred to him that he needed to refill it..  When Leo was gone, she took a shuddering breath.  There was no way she’d be able to sleep while waves of hot pain radiated throughout her body.  But she knew she had to be strong, if only for Leo’s sake.  He was counting on her to return him to human form, and she couldn’t let him down.  Not when she owed him so much.

 

By the time Leo was back (surprisingly with a young mountain goat limp in his jaws), Aristandra realized that she had somehow ended up drifting out of consciousness.  The added rest made her feel marginally better, and while the pain was still throbbing and intense, at least she now had the will to bear it.

 

 “Good catch,” she praised groggily when she saw him, her voice once again sounding grainy.  “I -” she was about to say that she’d help him clean and prepare the meat - something that she had significantly improved at during their travels together, but as she attempted to move, her wounds screamed at her until she moaned and remembered that she was basically useless.

 

 “‘M Sorry,” she mumbled.

 

Leo made a sound in the back of his throat, leaving the dead mountain kid aside, and examining Aristandra with his golden eyes.

 

 “‘M fine,” she protested. “Go eat.”

 

Leo gave her a doubtful look but then nodded.  He picked the kid up by its long bony legs,and began dragging it out of the cave, but Aristandra called out: “Wait!”

 

Leo paused, giving her a puzzled look.

 

 “I - I don’t mind if you eat here.  It doesn’t bother me.”

 

Leo’s expression darkened, and Aristandra had a feeling that if he could speak, he’d say: ‘But it bothers me.’  Aristandra couldn’t entirely understand it, but she had a feeling that Leo’s sense of pride made him uncomfortable with his own animalistic needs.  Yet, she never thought less of him for it, and though he looked a lion, she never forgot that he was a human underneath it all.

 

But then Leo shook his head, and continued pulling the body of the mountain goat away.  As much as Aristandra tried to ignore it, she couldn’t help feeling hurt and disappointed.  Couldn’t Leo trust her?  Couldn’t he be himself around her?  But as the next wave of pain swept through her, the ache in her heart got temporarily brushed aside by the immediacy of her wounded body.

 

-o-

 

A few days later, Aristandra was finally able to pull herself up to a standing position (though she leaned her weight heavily on the cave wall).  She was eager to be of use, but pushing herself to her limits had only caused some of her wounds to reopen, and though she tried to convince Leo that she was fine, he only growled threateningly, in a way that said: ‘Get yourself back down on those blankets and _ rest _ .  Now.’

 

Between the two of them, they quickly finished up the young mountain goat, and it was time for Leo to go hunting again.  Meanwhile, Aristandra knew that she should be busying herself by changing her bandages.  She did not look forward to it.

 

While the cuts and bruises on her side appeared to be healing well, her arm did not look quite so good.  Aristandra couldn’t tell if it was infected or not, but her whole forearm seemed to remain red and swollen, and though it was hard to look at, her torn flesh seemed to ooze pus as well.  She didn’t dare to let Leo look at it, lest he think the worst, but it was uncomfortable keeping things from him when he kept giving her long looks that seemed to see too much.

 

Using the waterskin, she pour water over the ugly marks, and then tried to scrape off the flakey remnants of blood.  She looked down at her clothes, were were getting ripped to shreds, and with a sigh, she tore off a new piece, and wrapped it tightly around her arm.  How could she continue their quest in this state?  With ripped clothes, and a vulnerable body, what good could she be?  She sighed heavily, glad that Leo was out hunting and couldn’t see her.

 

Aristandra was trying to sort through the remains of the kid (debating the possibility of cooking up a stew with the bones and gristle), when Leo returned.  As he entered the opening of the cave, her eyes widened.  He had returned, not with an animal, but with what looked like a sack.

 

 “Leo?”  She thought about trying to stand up, but as if guessing her intentions, Leo growled a low warning that said: ‘Don’t even try it.’

 

Leo set down what turned out to actually be a sack in front of her, and though she still felt surprised, she reached over for it.  “What happened?” she murmured, but then it occurred to her that the sack might have been stolen and she decided not to push it.  She wasn’t entirely comfortable with stealing, and never asked Leo how he felt about it.  Both of them realized the necessity of it.  Especially in Leo’s case, when he couldn’t exactly explain himself to anyone.

 

As she pulled open the sack, Leo’s movements caught the corner of her eyes, and she furrowed her brows.  “Leo - are you - limping?  Did you get hurt?”

 

Leo at down and stubbornly shook his head.  Aristandra frowned, but she was in no position to argue with Leo.  “I’m just worried about you,” she confessed, her voice soft, and Leo’s defensiveness seemed to melt away.  He nodded in understanding, before gesturing to her to open the sack.

 

Near the top of the pile was a thick slab of cheese as well as a hard loaf of travel bread, and Aristandra’s surprise turned into delight.  “Leo!  Where did you find this?” she remarked, but it wasn’t a question that she expected an answer for.  Within the bag, she also pulled out another waterskin, but before she set it aside, Leo made a noise, that suggested it was important.  Puzzled, Aristandra pulled open the cork, and was met by the strong odor of spirits.  Her eyes widened.  As she looked over at Leo, he was looking pointedly at her arm, and she realized that he had taken the spirits specifically to help her injuries.  Did he realize how bad her arm looked?  Or was it just his guilt that drove him to act?

 

“Thank you,” she said, feeling moved by his concern and aware of the small lump in her throat.  “This will - help.  What would I do without you.”  The question may have been rhetorical, but the idea still made her a bit sad.  She truly did need Leo, far more than he needed her.

 

There were a few other small, but useful things in the sack, including a couple changes of clothes, for which Aristandra was deeply grateful.  Once she sorted through the items, she placed most of the objects back in the sack and set it aside.  

 

 “Did you managed to hunt anything for yourself?” she asked Leo. 

 

He nodded.

 

Aristandra smiled.  “Good.”  She paused, feeling slightly shy.  “Sit next to me?”

 

Leo seemed to consider the question, and Aristandra felt a flash of insecurity.  Should she have even asked that?  What if Leo was sick of her?  Sick of what an ordeal she was being?  But then Leo nodded, and Aristandra’s fears slid away.  However, as Leo moved towards her, she couldn’t help but notice that despite his efforts to hide it, he  _ was _ limping.  Though she wanted to fuss and worry over him, she tamped down her feelings and made no comment.  Instead, she promised herself that she would get better and stronger, and hopefully, in the future, she might prove that she could be of real value to Leo.  No, not only Leo.  She wanted to prove her own worth to herself as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really not happy with this story. I have plans to re-write it and rework it. That means I won't be adding any new chapters (until it is re-written). Sorry :(  
> Writing is still a learning experience for me, and the more I write, the more glaring the problems of this story have become. I've written enough of it that it can't be fixed at this point (though it could be finished... it just wouldn't be a story I could feel good about).


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